


Pemberley

by Laure001



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 17:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/pseuds/Laure001
Summary: I cannot pitch this story, it is too weird. Just know that it is an Elizabeth/Darcy love story – with a happy ending – I hope you give it a try!Theepiloguehas been posted! Now really complete, I swear. :)





	1. Of course

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Reader, I rated this story "Mature". This is NOT family friendly. Enter at your own risk!

“Would you fuck her? I would fuck her,” Wickham said.

He was standing at the end of the canned vegetables row, wearing the grey Pemberley uniform, arms crossed. Leaning against a pillar, doing nothing, as usual.

“Fucking get to work,” Darcy mumbled.

Wickham sighed. “Bingley, you’re with me here, right? You would fuck her?”

“Sure,” said Bingley, who had a tendency to agree with everybody.

The brunette Wickham was talking about was young, maybe 19. No little glowing metal triangle enbedded in her neck – she was not a Citizen. She was buying canned beans for her family, well she was trying, because she was flanked by two unruly younger sisters who were whining, making a mess of the cans, and generally being a pain. 

“Come on Kitty,” the brunette said to the one of the girls, who wanted chocolate, “you know we cannot afford that.” Yes, chocolate was stacked at the end of the canned produce. Darcy had wanted to move it – at 21, he was already the manager of the place, and honestly also taking on most of Mrs. Debourgh responsibilities. But this time the owner had pushed back. 

“The poor are unreasonable,” Mrs. Debourgh had explained. “They will buy the cheapest rice, but that will exhaust their meagre reserve of willpower, so they will see the chocolate and be unable to resist.”

Wickham was still watching the girls; it was 3 pm, on a slow day, there was no one around and not much to do. The other sister, a certain Lydia, wanted something expensive, the brunette had to tell her “no” also, it was a depressing scene, one that Darcy had witnessed many times during the five years he had worked here. Since the end of the war, the crisis and the famine – and the rise of The Authority – things had been dire – dire wasn’t strong enough a word, really. 

“Well, I’d certainly fuck this one,” Bingley whispered. 

A stunning blonde had just joined the others – turned out she was _another_ sister. No metal triangle either – Darcy was sick of watching, it felt like ogling – it was ogling – he turned to leave. “I like the brunette better, come on, man, what about the brunette?” Wickham insisted, elbowing Darcy, who answered, without thinking:

"Tolerable only. I would not fuck her."

Of course - of course - the brunette heard. She had walked near the peas and carrots section – she was just at hearing distance. When Darcy spoke, she started a little and turned towards him - their eyes met - Darcy didn't lower his, but the brunette merely looked amused, she gave him a sardonic smile before walking away towards the potatoes, her sisters in tow.

Then Darcy lost sight of them for a while. Aliens had entered the supermarket, the second kind – M31.5, maybe? – the ones with the slightly translucent skin. Of course the manager had to be there to greet them - why Gal 3 natives would visit their pathetic city section was a mystery with a depressing explanation: the aliens were tourists and they were curious. They wanted to see how _real_ humans lived. Someone somewhere must have said, the north eastern Urban Zone 5 is so _real_ , dude, with the ghettos and the exploding criminality and the highest rate of infancy death in all the H-Districts – and Pemberley supermarket was, believe it or not, a zone landmark, a pole of unattainable luxury for most of the people around.

Darcy remembered when he was 13 and Pemberley was still a magical word. They had just discovered it – _Pemberley_ , the seventh satellite of the seventh planet of a new solar system. Habitable – maybe. A future paradise for humanity – maybe. Pemberley had raised so many hopes at the times – that was when Mrs. Debourgh chose the name of her shop – then something must have happened because the satellite disappeared from the news – the Authority never mentioned it anymore - but back to the present – a few minutes after the aliens left Darcy spotted the girls again, and the youngest, Lydia, had stolen some chocolate.

Darcy saw her do it. Take a chocolate bar and slid it in her coat pocket. His heart sank. He had to arrest her. Then the Reds would come and throw the girl in a hole somewhere – non-citizens had no civic rights, her family would never see her again. And that was the best outcome - worst outcome was, they would all be deported.

“Lydia. Put that back.” (The brunette. She was very pale.)

“But, Lizzie….” Lydia complained. 

“Oh my God put that back,” the brunette said. “Do you know what that could do to us?”

Her hands - the brunette's hands - were trembling. Her voice, shaking.

Lydia put the chocolate back. And then she burst into tears. Darcy was discreetly watching it all, from the end of the alley, hoping, praying really that the brunette would not cave, that he would not have to… 

The brunette did not cave. “But we are always hungry,” Lydia said, crying so hard, “and we never have chocolate,” so then the brunette took her sister in her arms and consoled her and told her silly made-up stories and made her laugh - and Darcy should have left, oh my God he should have, but he could not, he was transfixed, watching the scene, listening to the brunette’s voice, thinking about years gone by, when he was consoling Georgiana the same way, inventing crazy tales, before - before everything – the brunette had such a soft tone, and her smile was – Darcy forced himself to leave – he had tears in his eyes – this time the brunette did not see him.

He had work to do. So much work - he couldn't slip - considering the situation, he simply could not - Bingley was chatting the blonde near the western exit, and she was blushing.

“He's gonna fuck her,” Wickham announced in a sing-song voice, after appearing at Darcy's side.

Darcy frowned. “We gotta put a stop to that.”

“Why? Mutually beneficial relationship. She'll suck his dick, he'll get her a piece of ham. Happy endings for everybody. 

“It's immoral,” Darcy said. “Taking advantage.”

“It’s helping them. How do you think their kind survive? Four sisters – pretty – how do you think they get food? Or maybe they haven’t stooped to it yet – but they will – better Bingley be the first, don’t you think? He’ll be gentle,” Wickham added with this expression he had when he thought nobody was watching, or when he was alone with Darcy. That look in Wickham’s eyes, it made Darcy shiver sometimes, it made him want to beat Wickham to a bloody pulp before something bad happened, something really bad. It made him want to fire Wickham on the spot – but he couldn’t, Wickham’s late father was a friend of Mrs. Debourgh, Wickham was untouchable.

Of course something really bad had _already_ happened. Numerous times. Wickham had gotten so many girls, abusing his Citizen status, trading stolen supermarket food for sexual favors – and one of the girls had been caught in flagrante with him – the funny thing was, even if a non-citizen woman had no civic rights she was still supposed to obey the Females’ Chastity Laws – the Red who found them was drunk, or something, he put a bullet in the girl’s head right here and there – that did not stop Wickham to do it again.

**

Bingley got the blonde’s phone number and smiled beatifically during the rest of the day.

** 

Darcy saw her again. The brunette. Elizabeth was her name. She started shopping there once or twice a week, sometimes with her younger sisters, most often in the company of Jane, the blonde. They were very polite, Elizabeth and Jane, very “polished”, even, considering their situation. Clearly there had been _some_ education there. They talked and laughed, well Elizabeth laughed, she smiled a lot, she had a running joke with the cashier about the number of cans of beans they bought in a week. “We’re making bean art, that is why we need so many – no family would eat so much beans, right? We’re doing a mock-up of Versailles, in bean cans,” she explained. Darcy was just there, trying to repair the conveyor belt. He heard the whole exchange and looked up – he met Elizabeth’s eyes again. She smiled at him – *that* smile – the ironic one – then she bowed her head in that way women were supposed to – but somehow with her it seemed ironical too. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said. 

See, non-citizens were supposed to call citizens “sir” and “madam” but it didn’t mean people were actually doing it – so this was the most formal way Elizabeth could have chosen to address him. Clearly she had not forgotten the “I would not fuck her” comment. 

Darcy answered the salutation very formally too. “Good afternoon,” he said, with the slight nod of the head which was expected of him, yes, they met a few times, he even wondered, once, if he should call her “madam.” It was not the legal thing to do, but maybe it was the polite one, Bingley did it, after all, he “sired” and “madamed” everybody, metal triangle or not. But so did Wickham – and those poor non-citizen girls swooned – and then Wickham – you know – so no, Darcy just said “good afternoon” to Elizabeth, curtly.

Their paths crossed often. Elizabeth was working at Philips’, the sandwich shop, across the rundown concrete esplanade they were supposed to call a square. Jane was doing some shifts there in the evening, so of course Bingley was a regular now – eating cheap, subpar sandwiches that he could have made for free with the Pemberley employees’ allotted food portion. Wickham was laughing at him, but he went to Philips’ too – he chatted the female employees and didn’t buy anything.

Darcy went there. On a Tuesday. To buy a sandwich. A sandwich he did not need. It was after the “Versailles in bean cans” conversation, he – he – he did not know why he crossed the esplanade really – he was curious to see Elizabeth in a different environment – in a situation where he would be the client. And why could he not buy himself a sandwich? He was allowed to buy a sandwich, right? Elizabeth smiled extremely politely when she saw him. She bowed her head, she said, “Good afternoon sir." He did the polite nod, he answered “Good afternoon” and almost added “madam,” but stopped himself just in time – something flitted in Elizabeth’s eyes, he could not say what. 

Her face was very neutral when she told him about the sandwich _du jour_. He bought one and fled. Well, he left the shop, he did not “flee”. Come on, why would he have fled? He, you know, left.

He did not throw the sandwich away, because being wasteful would have been a sin – when people were starving – but God did it leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

That night, he opened the closet and let Georgiana out in the reserve storage area. Everybody had left – it was safe – as safe it could ever be – the scarlet X on Georgiana’s neck was glowing (status: “whore”, death penalty: automatic) – the huge, gloomy space was deserted, but to Georgiana it was heaven, freedom, the garden of Eden – she stretched and laughed and danced between the rows – she had hardly moved for three days – then she began to sob – no, nothing wrong with her, she was perfectly sane, it was just – try to live most of your life hidden in a tiny, claustrophobic space without light, because if the Reds gets you, they will murder you on the spot - your brother too, for being an accomplice – Darcy tried to console her – he was not good at this – then he prepared as sumptuous a dinner he could for the both of them – they had fun, really, they did – till dawn broke, and of course he had to lock her up again.


	2. Under Control

Darcy saw Elizabeth again.

But it was fine. It was all fine.

He had the situation perfectly under control.

**

There were parties. Happening at night, not far from the Philips’ shop, in a condemned building. Squatters everywhere, tags, every inch of concrete painted – Georgiana loved walking past the place when she was little – all the colors.

On the third floor – windows sealed with wooden planks – cheap food, music blazing – human music. Jane and Elizabeth Bennet dancing together, young people from the nearby blocks, blowing steam. Wickham, always with a new girl. Synthetic vodka. Smoking – a lot of smoking – not always cigarettes. Bingley was sociable as ever, drinking pretty bad wine, chatting amiably with the guys from the Forster gang, who, Darcy was convinced, had a pretty efficient black-market system going – selling food, medicine, and occasional drugs – but Bingley was oblivious as always. 

The place was safe from the Reds, Lucas assured. Darcy saw no reason why, but really, the Authority soldiers had other alien eggs to fry… that was Wickham’s joke, by the way. True, if the Reds had to raid every illegal night gathering, they – well, they would be very busy – Darcy had no witty metaphor ready – it’s just that he always lived with the feeling that the entire Zone was _this_ close to exploding – that they were always _this_ close to a riot… and then, the Authority could very well wipe them all out, all Urban Zone 5, before or after evacuating the Citizens, that was the pertinent question. 

God. He had to leave, he thought, that night, while nursing his 5% tequila, 95% synthetic juice cocktail. Darcy had to find a way to exfiltrate Georgiana and leave that neighborhood forever – he HATED it – but to go where? Other districts were not much better, except in protected, luxurious neighborhoods that he would never be able to afford, not in a million years… and security would be too tight anyway, he would not be able to hide his sister – Elizabeth was still dancing, she had stopped to chat with the Forster brothers, and then went back to Jane again – “I know what you are thinking, Fitzwilliam,” Caroline Bingley whispered in his ear – she had succeeded to get the last of the wine. “All those people,” she continued. “Trash. Just trash.” 

The Rolling Stones were playing loudly on the vintage radio. Wickham was talking to – what was her name? Lydia? She was wearing too much make up – like her sister – Kitty – and their tops were too revealing. 

How old were they anyway? 13? 14? 

“Those girls shouldn’t even be allowed to leave home,” Caroline commented, and Darcy silently agreed. “Clearly they’re man bait,” Bingley’s sister continued. “I bet they have a set amount of credits to bring back home every night…” 

Darcy hesitated. “No – I don’t think so,” he said, at last. He had seen a lot of the Bennet sisters recently, in the sandwich shop, at Pemberley’s, and yes – during parties. Wickham had noticed it, that Darcy went out more, even Bingley had complimented his friend for becoming more sociable – “not that Darcy is actually, you know, _talking_ to anyone there,” Wickham had commented with a smirk. 

Caroline gave a dry laugh. “Oh, you don’t think the Bennet girls are turning tricks?”

“No.” Darcy put his glass back on the table. “They might be holding out for a protector, actually.”

Caroline scoffed at the notion. “The two youngest are much too vulgar to attract a real man – a Citizen I mean – I don’t see anybody paying a pension for _them_ , and I would not trust their virginity anyway. But…” Caroline pursed her lips.” The two eldest, maybe.” 

The idea was clearly not to Caroline’s liking. Darcy followed her gaze: on the other side of the room, Bingley and Jane were conversing in a low voice, next to a wall covered with pornographic tags and burned by acid secretions. It did not seem to bother them; Jane Bennet was smiling and blushing – and Bingley – the expression on his face when he was talking to her – Darcy had to look away. 

**

Caroline took a new sip of her drink. “Sometimes, I understand people who said we should just get rid of them all,” she whispered. “Just – well, eliminate them somehow. Start humanity clean, you know?”

“I know,” Darcy answered – he was not really listening.

**

Bingley’s earnestness. Bingley’s innocence – the hope in his eyes – when he was looking at a beautiful girl like Jane Bennet – that would never be him, Darcy thought – that would never be Darcy again. He had seen too much. 

It was Bingley who saved his life, though, when they were kids. That year when Earth was raided five times by the BlaSats – _after_ the peace treaty had officially been signed. Bingley and Darcy, they were boys – hardly eleven, walking in the street – alarms began to roar and Darcy refused to run to a shelter – it was a month after his parents’ deaths, let’s just say his behavior was not always entirely rational. The BlaSasts came screaming from the sky, Darcy stood directly in the line of fire, on purpose, taunting them, so Bingley tackled him and pinned him on the ground, grey flames rained from the heavens, but Bingley did not fucking move, not an inch, till the monsters were gone. Afterwards – the two boys – they cut their palms and mixed their blood, and swore that they would be blood brothers forever – and yes, maybe it was all a little ridiculous – but they were children, and they had kept their oath always – and even now, years later, Darcy thought he would protect his friend at all costs – the music kept playing – the Forsters kept drinking – Elizabeth kept dancing – around midnight Bingley decided he would be hosting an “After” at his place. 

Darcy and Caroline were invited, of course. And a few chosen guests, including Jane Bennett. Caroline deemed the idea vulgar – but seemed inclined to go anyway. Darcy declined. 

Jane visibly hesitated.

“I have to get Lydia and Kitty home safe,” she said, slowly.

“Excellent!” Bingley answered with his usual cheer. “Then you can come at my place right after!” 

“Well…”

“Jane, you shouldn’t – you have a shift at 8,” Elizabeth protested. “And there were Reds patrols earlier.” 

The five of them were standing near the folding table, now littered with empty glasses and cigarettes butts. Elizabeth turned to Bingley. “Also… I mean no offense, sir, but…” She gave her sister a significant look. “Janey, it’s really late.”

What she did not say was clear to absolutely everybody, so Bingley hastily added:

“Caroline will be there, Miss Elizabeth – and Louisa, and her husband – it will be perfectly respectable. I am a perfectly respectable man,” he added with a smile. “Right? I mean – Darcy, come on, vouch for me.”

Darcy had no intention to do so – it was very late and curfew was for everybody, citizens included. But before he could protest Wickham intervened – he was lying nearby, on a broken lounge chair, a beer in hand. “Bingley is much too honorable for his own good”, he stated. Everybody laughed – it was settled – Bingley and Caroline went home, Jane left with her two sisters, and would be heading for Netherfield later.

**

Midnight.

Shots resonated in the streets. 

Elizabeth looked uneasy.

**

One am. Darcy was still at the party. Elizabeth was too, she was going be sleeping at her friend Charlotte’s in the adjacent building – yes, Darcy had overheard the conversation, he seemed to overhear a lot of conversations when Elizabeth was concerned. But it was fine – it was all fine – I mean, he hadn’t even talked to her that night.

** 

Two am.

New shots.

Elizabeth kept checking her phone – a very old model. The party was winding down, and Darcy was _still_ there. He did not know why exactly, maybe it was with the vague hope that if there were only a few people left, Elizabeth would have to talk to him – they would have to exchange a few words, maybe about the music – but that conversation never happened. Once she walked to the table, poured herself a cup of bitter, watery coffee, Darcy was standing right there – yes, now she _had_ to talk to him, he thought – she was always so polite, and it was the polite thing to do – but she didn’t. 

She didn’t even spare him a glance – she kept her eyes on the coffee cup and walked right back to Charlotte.

**

Alarms began to blare.

Everybody froze. Three long, one short. 

**

The Tocsin.

**

“Turn off the lights!” Charlotte yelled, and people sprang to life – Darcy rushed to the halls on the left and shut down everything – radiators, networks, water heaters, any electric device he could find – he almost ran into Elizabeth, who had done the same thing on the other side – they hurried back in the room.

“Too bad we cannot shut down human beings,” Elizabeth breathed, trying to joke, but her voice was tense.

“We’re not large enough a group to attract Its attention – I think,” Darcy whispered back. 

**

Then, waiting. In the dark.

**

The Beast fell.

They heard It screaming first – a deafening, alien shriek – they covered their ears – it was impossible not to be scared, the Beasts were programmed to engineer an instinctive terror response in human beings. Old, organic war weapons they were, from a conflict long ago forgotten – still hovering in orbits, like mines of wars of yore – falling at what seemed like random intervals – Charlotte grabbed Elizabeth’s hand – Darcy was thinking of Georgiana – she would be safe, Pemberley was underground, under solid layers of concrete, she would – 

_Impact._

Not very far away – but far enough. The thundering blast, the shock wave – the building shuddered slightly – “Don’t move!” Darcy ordered, “the secondary falls” – and yes, it began to rain – parts of the Beast, loaded with acid, crashing on the city – something landed close, on the left, where the Lucas lived – “Mama! Maria!” Charlotte cried – “Don’t go now! Wait!” said Elizabeth, physically restraining her – then the noises subsided – it was just the screaming now.

Everybody began to talk at once. Foster turned on the lights. Elizabeth was frantically checking her phone. “Oh my God,” she breathed, while Charlotte and her dad were already running down, toward the west and the underground illegal tunnel connecting the two buildings – there were a lot of those secret passageways around, some from the war, some from later, to avoid curfew – Elizabeth had grabbed her coat and hastened toward the other door – toward the streets. Darcy caught her by the wrist. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She was livid. “Jane is hurt. She did not make it to Bingley in time. Her leg, she – she crawled and tried to hide, but she’s still outside – if the Reds catch her…”

“We’re hours into curfew.” Darcy’s voice was harsh. “After an Osk6 attack. Reds will be crawling everywhere.”

“Jane is hurt!” Elizabeth cried. “She cannot move! She called me! You – don’t understand…” She threw off Darcy’s grasp and ran toward the stairs, Darcy in tow.

“Wait!” Darcy said, with so much imperiousness that Elizabeth actually froze. She turned to him – years of women being programmed to obey a man’s voice – he hastened to join her.

“Wait,” he repeated. “I’m a Citizen. I know where Bingley lives. I’ll come with you.”

**

The night was very dark. As soon as the alarms sounded, Zone Security had turned off every city lights to try to confuse the Beast – the lights that had survived the last decade at least – and now they took all their fucking time turning them on again, which made the situation even more dangerous. The Reds were on the hunt. Most of the Secondary Beasts exploded on arrival, but the ones which survived the fall would give birth to fucking fast little octopus-like creatures, whose job was to hide in the darkest places before bursting and spreading their acid content on unlucky humans. The Reds who tracked them had special weapons and armor, but still, their task was – well, heroic, let’s admit it – and very, very dangerous – it also had a tendency to piss them off even more. 

Darcy and Elizabeth advanced prudently, keeping in the shadows, crossing swiftly the deserted streets. 

“I’m bringing you the long way round,” Darcy explained. Thinking that might be the longest sentence he ever said to Elizabeth – what on earth had possessed him, to grab her wrist like that, to talk to her like she was – like she was his? Thanks Heaven she had been too worried to really notice – they crossed a new street, prudently, and there It was – lying dead in the ruins – the Beast. 

Massive. Gigantic. The size of a church – no – of a four, five stories building, Its translucid fluorescent tentacles glowing in the night. The shock of Its fall had destroyed half a block, and then – Its acid content exploded – on the other side of the site Reds were crawling indeed – lights and calls and radio static – Darcy and Elizabeth were watching, half hidden, horrified – and fascinated.

“God. I have never seen one so close,” Elizabeth whispered.

“Me neither.”

They stayed immobile for a good minute. It was dangerous, Reds could come this way anytime – still – they could not move. That’s what “petrified” meant, Darcy thought. That was what Greek warriors must have felt when they stared into the eyes of the Medusa – but – there was more. That thing was… proof, Darcy thought, proof that the universe was huge, and deep – horrors and marvels, hovering in the darkness – things they would never see, never understand – out of their reach forever, and… _Stop. Just stop._

He had to focus. 

“Ok. Where is your sister exactly?” 

“Near the mini-mall. She said she dragged herself down in the basement, and she texted Bingley – Mr. Bingley, I mean. But… she’s not answering. My last three texts. No answer.”

“Maybe her battery is dead.”

“Maybe.”

“We will have to take a pretty big detour,” Darcy explained. “Through the warehouse, or directly north?”

They went north. It was a mistake. 

Because the Red was going north too, he was alone, weapon in hand, and he spotted them as soon as they reached the crosswalk.

**

“Freeze,” he ordered. 

He did not even yell – he did not need too. Darcy and Elizabeth knew that if they tried to run they’d be shot on the spot. The man began to walk towards them – that was it, Darcy thought – life or death – on a whim of fate – no time for thought or regret – the man was on them. 

His combat armor was dark red, with a blue stripe, in bad shape. Soldiers of the Authority were hated, but they had budgeting problems like everyone else – and this was an officer, you could see it by the regimental number on the shoulder. LC-RF-3122, Lieutenant Colonel something.

“ID”, he asked. His voice was slightly deformed by the helmet. 

“I just have my S,” Darcy said, gesturing to his triangle. The Red scanned his neck with the reader – Darcy put his arm around Elizabeth shoulders. 

“She's with me,” he added. The man eyes – the helmet – turned to Elizabeth. 

“She's with me,” Darcy repeated. 

Silence – the Red was still looking at her. God knows what the man was seeing, or scanning – Elizabeth was petrified. 

Darcy added, his voice not as steady as he would have wished, “We were... You know…”

The Red turned towards Darcy. “Oh, I _know_ ,” he answered – such spite in his tone, you could hear it despite the helmet. But weirdly enough, the spite was directed at _him_ , Darcy realized, at Darcy – not at Elizabeth.

Silence. Darcy did not avert his eyes – he kept his arm on Elizabeth’s shoulders, even drew her a little closer.

“Richard!” called another soldier, somewhere in the dark. 

“Coming!” the Red said. But he did not turn away. His eyes were still on Darcy. “Do you realize what you’re doing to her? The punishment she is facing because of you?”

“I – I – yes,” Darcy began, still holding her, “But we…”

“Richard! We got a live one!” the voice yelled. The Red turned to Elizabeth. His voice was steel.

“Never leave home after curfew again.”

And he was gone.

**

Elizabeth crumbled – the release of tension so brutal she almost fainted – Darcy caught her, after two or three deep breaths she was able to walk again. They retreated in the nearest building – by miracle, the main entrance door was open – broken really – so more a lack of funds than a real miracle, but that’s how it felt at the time.

A sordid hall, a half working neon, a dirty stairwell – they let themselves fall on the steps. 

They couldn’t talk for a good minute. 

**

Shots and orders resonated outside.

Elizabeth was very pale. Then she began to shake – with fear, humiliation, anger, "Thank you," she said, in a strangled voice, though she did not seem really grateful, Darcy lowered his arm – he had just realized he was still holding her. “Thank you,” Elizabeth repeated, with more sincerity this time. “I am sorry, sir, I am just... shaken I guess.”

“I don’t know if – I am not sure you ought to thank me,” Darcy answered, after a pause. “I am not sure my presence didn’t actually make things worse.”

“No.” There was a sort of harshness – bitterness really – in Elizabeth’s tone. “I was spared because I was with a Citizen – because you pretended I was yours.”

Maybe. Darcy was honestly not sure – but he could see no point in arguing. “This – this is crazy,” he stated, instead. “You should never have gone out at night.”

Elizabeth didn't answer right away, and when she did, her voice was very smooth, very polished. “Again, you saved my life, sir, and the danger was very real, so I cannot contradict you. But... Jane is hurt. Maybe in a desperate situation. If you had a sister, what would you do?”

Outside. The metallic voices. The radio calls. Yelling. New shots. Explosion noises. Strange, inhuman shrieks.

A pause.

“Well. Whatever the case,” Darcy whispered after a while, “we certainly cannot go out now.” 

**

Silence fell.

** 

He was feeling antsy. The danger they had escaped, Elizabeth’s proximity - she was so close – down there on the steps with him – their legs were almost touching, her solid walking boots, the helm of her white dress, stained with mud and grime – she must have worn her best clothes for the party, and now, they were ruined, he thought, randomly.

“Bingley must have gotten to your sister by now,” he said, a good half hour later.

“What if he hasn’t?” 

So much anguish. Darcy thought of Georgiana again. What he would feel – what he had felt, in a similar situation. When she was fourteen, his sister had disappeared for thirty days. Darcy had raised hell trying to find her, but he was so young, with no valuable connection, and then he learned Georgiana had fallen into the hands of the Saphire Network. Sex traffickers – a specific mafia, very violent, very powerful – she was lost – still Darcy tried, he begged them, he tried buying her off – to no avail – and then one night his sister was sobbing and banging at Pemberley door with the scarlet letter embedded in her neck. Thin as a rail. Bruises all over. Acid marks. Strange, ritual, alien cuts. A miracle – Darcy couldn’t believe his eyes – he hid her right away, then grabbed a weapon, knowing they would follow her and find her and kill them both before morning – but nobody ever came.

Because that same night, the Reds had raided the Saphire Headquarters. A massacre. Everybody was dead – the criminals, the girls – all executed on the spot. How Georgiana had succeeded to flee the scene, Darcy never knew – she refused to discuss what they had done to her, or how she had been sold in sexual slavery – she had always refused to talk.

Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “I know Bingley can seem… I don’t know. Too happy? Unaware of harsh realities, or unconcerned, maybe? But the truth is, he is extremely loyal. If he said he was going for your sister, he will keep his word.”

Elizabeth nodded in silence – then there was a discreet beep, she looked at her phone – her hands began to tremble. “She’s safe,” she finally breathed, after a while. “Jane is safe, he got her, he got her…” 

She laughed, nervously, then started to shiver after a while she laughed again – a real laugh, this time. “God. And I always thought I was unflappable, you know? Jaded. Mean. Cold. Cynical.” 

Darcy couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. Like 19 old girls generally are.”

“Oh, like 21 is so much older!” Elizabeth answered, laughingly. Darcy was ready to joke back, but she added quickly – “I mean – _sir_. I mean…” She laughed again. “Sorry. I believe relief is making me a tad hysterical. I am losing my manners – please don’t turn me over to the Reds for lack of respect.”

She was joking, of course, but still, it hurt Darcy a bit – that she would think of him that way – just a little, illogical painful pinch. A few minutes later, Elizabeth got a new message – it was only a superficial burn, Jane assured, and Bingley had called a medic – Elizabeth felt so relieved she laughed again.

Darcy stood up and began to pace the room – he should have been relieved too, but instead, he had been seized by an irrational black mood. 

“You and your sister,” he asked, his voice cold. “You went to school, right?”

Elizabeth started, then watched him for a few seconds. “We did,” she answered, after a pause. “Is that so surprising?”

“It is, considering your background.”

A new, longer pause. Elizabeth’s face was perfectly neutral. “And what do you know about our background, _sir_?”

Darcy hesitated. “Nothing, I suppose. But secondary education in not common for people in your condition of life.”

Strange how her face could become even more unreadable. “My father was a sociology professor,” she explained, after a while. “Five years ago, he published a paper – criticizing the Authority.”

“Oh.”

“He was fired the next day – all our privileges instantly revoked.”

“Your father is a very irresponsible man.”

“My father did what he thought was right,” Elizabeth answered with passion. Darcy kept silent, and after a while she sighed. “But, yes. I suppose it was irresponsible… he thought he had powerful friends. You know, in the parliament.”

Darcy shook his head. “I guess they were not that powerful after all.” 

“No.”

There was not much to say after. 

** 

Elizabeth was trying to sleep. Darcy was still standing – his back upon a pillar – he wondered if he should come sit near her again, but did not dare. Later voices resonated in the street, new voices, not the Reds, a gang, probably there to pillage the ruins and rob the dead, so Elizabeth and Darcy silently climbed the stairs. Junkies and dealers were populating the halls, they went higher and higher, till they found a little balcony on the fifth floor – with a view on the Beast – Its purple, eerie light glowing in the street. 

And then the fire dancers came. 

They began their strange, sophisticated arabesques around the colossal alien corpse, it was art, a ritual – they were humans, generally masked, who came and danced around the dead after catastrophes – the non-citizen bodies were generally dumped into a common grave, so the bizarre, silent ballet was the dancers' way to honor the fallen – for some reason the Authority hated those displays, and the Reds had orders to shoot – but they didn’t always obey. And this time they didn’t, they just stopped their grim tasks and observed, the torches in the dancers’ hands drawing incomprehensible forms in the night – Darcy and Elizabeth watched in silence – Darcy felt his heart was bursting, there was so much beauty in the world still, he wanted to share it with her, to dispel the coldness that had followed the discussion about her father – but he didn’t know how to begin,

“I wish I could go away,” Elizabeth whispered, after a while. “Far, far away from here. In space, somewhere.”

Darcy’s voice was rough. “I know the feeling.” 

“You do?”

Darcy could not bring himself to answer – later they sat down on the cold concrete floor, huddled between the wall and the iron rail, and this time Elizabeth did fall asleep – they were very close, sharing warmth – then dawn broke, a grey one, and Darcy could at last lead her to Netherfield – Elizabeth cried with joy when she saw Jane, she held her so close –

**

But it was fine. It was all fine.

He had the situation perfectly under control.


	3. Unraveling

“I don’t want to become Jane’s protector!” Bingley protested. “Who the hell do you think I am? I won't pay a woman for sex... of course I want to marry her!”

Caroline practically shrieked. “Charles, are you crazy? Have you no regard for our family’s future? If we have one chance, only one, to get out of that fucking zone…” 

“But I do not want to get out,” Bingley answered. “I like it here! We know everyone – we have friends – people help each other – and anyway do you really think it’s better south, Caroline? We would barely be able to afford a closet in the protected areas, and…”

“Charles,” Darcy interrupted, in a low tone. “Jane Bennet doesn’t love you.”

Bingley stayed speechless.

“She wants to get Citizenship. Not that I blame her, considering her situation. Her parents are pushing her into your bed. You have a good job, a good salary, and, of course, a sizable inheritance coming your way…”

“They don’t know that,” Bingley breathed.

“Oh my God,” Darcy whispered. He shook his head. “Of course they do.”

**  
Worms invaded Pemberley’s reserves. They were small, grey, mutated earth-born nasty little creatures – they ate through metal, and to get rid of them was a complex and expensive process. Darcy bought all the necessary chemicals, he had the premises sprayed, after hiding Georgiana in the abandoned cinema in the deserted mall upstairs – it was a risk, but he did not want her to be alone in the dark with the poison and the worms.

“I’m on vacation!” Georgiana cried with a happy smile when she arrived in the old, broken up theater complex. During the day, she slept on the dirty velvet scarlet seats, at night she practiced her dancing in the deserted hall, under the wary eyes of long-dead paper actresses. She still ate downstairs in the reserve with him, it was a strange vision, seeing his sister laugh in the semi-obscurity between rows and rows of laundry soap and canned beans – so many cans, you could build Versailles with them, he told Georgiana, who loved it. 

They watched the news. The forbidden channels, on Georgiana’s old tablet – cracked and anonymized, of course. Automatic death penalty there too, if they were seen, but if Darcy was caught with his sister, illegal streaming would be the last of their worries anyway.

**

The worms invaded Darcy’s dreams. Metaphorically. He could not remember the details of his nightmares – there was a painting of his life – it looked like the supermarket, rows, and rows of - things – and the worms were eating it, they were eating everything, they were eating _reality_ , the sky, the supermarket, Georgiana – and then Darcy woke up, every night, drenched in sweat.

Everything is fine, he had to repeat to himself, after. 

It didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Everything was under control.

**

“’PTSD’… Whatever the hell that means,” Ms. Debourgh grumbled while sipping her nice little expresso, in her nice little clean house in Rosings Parks, while Darcy was working on the kitchen table on the annual tax review. The Authority’s administrative forms were so messed up, it would take at least three weeks to complete. “These so-called psychologists,” Ms. Debourgh continued, “spouting bullshit, as always. Yesterday, that woman, on the news… ‘everyone on Earth is PTSD…’ Why on Gal3 would we be?”

“The war…? Three billion dead in ten years?” Charlotte Lucas answered sweetly, without raising her eyes from her computer. “The famine and epidemics that followed…? Maybe, you know, that might have something to do with it.”

Darcy hid his smile. He liked Charlotte Lucas. Her sense of humor, her politeness, she reminded him of… someone else.

Ms. Debourgh scoffed. “PTSD is for the weak. Smart people – strong people, they always fight through.”

“Of course, madam,” Charlotte answered, still perfectly sweet.

**

The news – not the ones that Ms. Debourgh watched, no, the other news, on Georgiana’s tablet – spoke of a riot in Urban Zone 3. There were shots of Reds pointing machine guns at the crowd. The video stopped there, but not before it caught aliens watching – Gal 3 tourists, harmless, peaceful folks, here on Earth for a stress-free vacation, maybe. It was a mistake, the experts said, to try to project familiar emotions on alien features, but still, sometimes Darcy wondered what they were thinking. 

You know, of humans.

**

No official news of the massacre ever reached Urban Zone 5.

**

Mr. Collins, Ms. Debourgh’s accountant, had become Charlotte Lucas’ protector. 50 a week, in return for her… “good opinion,” as Wickham named it – he then used a round baby tooth ring and his fingers – in and out, in and out – to rhythmically and graphically demonstrate what Charlotte’s “good opinion” entailed. But anyway – thanks to Collins’ recommendation, Charlotte Lucas was now working for Ms. Debourgh at Rosings Park.

That’s how Darcy found himself every morning, for two weeks, stuck in an hour-long elevator trip with Elizabeth Bennet.

** 

People called them “elevators” because of their cubic shape, but really, they were automated military wagons, traveling horizontally, twenty feet underground, on an antiquated copper railway network. Slow, relatively secure – only stopping in old, abandoned military bases. The local gangs generally managed them; clients were rare, because of the unpractical locations and the long wait – the “elevators” made the round trip every five hours – but as a cheap ride between Pemberley and Rosings Park they were rather practical, and Darcy had been using the system a lot.

Elizabeth’s presence in the morning elevator was not a surprise. Ms. Debourgh had mentioned her, explaining how “that Bennet girl” would come and learn accounting with Charlotte. As a non-citizen, Elizabeth would never have an official diploma, of course, but once she got her unofficial certificate, plenty of firms would only be too happy to hire her and get the same level of expertise for a fifth of the money – and, Darcy thought, the ridiculous, illegal salary would still be an upgrade from what she must be making at the Philips’ shop.  
So, anyway, when he met Elizabeth in the underground tunnel, he said good morning politely and even got the heavy elevator’s doors open for her. She thanked him very formally, and thirty seconds later the doors closed on the two of them. 

The engine roared, the wagon shuddered, and after what felt like two fake starts it began to slowly slide onwards.

They didn’t talk at first. Well, Elizabeth uttered all the necessary polite greetings and thanked him again for his help the night of the party, but after that she kept silent. Darcy had answered a little coldly – he still felt that his presence at Elizabeth’s side that night had really complicated the matter. And of course, now there was the Jane/Bingley issue. Elizabeth couldn’t know the role Darcy had played in the “breakup”, but she was very close to her sister – if the Bennets blamed their elder daughter for losing a good prospect Jane would suffer, and Elizabeth would be unhappy, Darcy thought – the wagon was moving steadily onwards. Elizabeth was standing near the opposite wall – it seemed that at any time the elevator’s simplistic, creaking structure was going to burst under pressure – but it had held for twenty years, and hopefully would hold for a few weeks more, "Do you ever think of what would happen if that thing got stuck?" Elizabeth suddenly said, interrupting Darcy’s thoughts. 

He answered curtly. "No."

(What would happen was, if they got stuck, Georgiana would starve.)

Elizabeth made a very stiff, very polite nod of the head. 

"I apologize for disturbing your peace, sir. I was just trying to make conversation.”

For some reason, that made Darcy smile. "You use formality like a weapon," he declared, looking at her.

She returned his smile. "More like a shield, I believe."

"You are right, that is more accurate."

Now he wanted more – of that smile, of that voice. But he didn’t know how to continue. The wagon dredged on, struggling and sighing, so finally, he said: "I would try to open that access hatch up there."

“I am sorry, sir?”

“If the elevator got stuck, as you said. I would ask you to help me reach the ceiling, here, and I would try to get that… trap-door open.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth looked up and walked prudently to the middle of the wagon, struggling to maintain her equilibrium after each bump. “I had never noticed it before.”

“Emergency exit. Copper and wood too, of course.”

“To keep the Slytherins out.”

“Yes.” Obviously “Slytherins” was not the official appellation, but it was certainly the most popular one.

“Humans are so amazing – so resourceful,” Elizabeth commented, with a smile. “I mean... Can you picture it? Scientists from everywhere... hidden in underground tunnels in sordid conditions, starving, but still finding solutions against an alien technology – against alien creatures we knew nothing about...” 

“In a war that _we_ started,” Darcy commented darkly. “It was humanity’s fault. Finding solutions for problems we created is nothing remarkable, in my opinion.”

A pause.

“Very true, sir,” Elizabeth said, before getting back to her corner. 

Silence stagnated for a while. Darcy’s ears were buzzing – it would pass – it happened sometimes, in close quarters. Especially underground. He could still hear her, hear the screams of his mom, when his parents – _enough_ – he had to think of something else – he focused on Elizabeth, who was also lost in thought, daydreaming. Her clothes were unremarkable – poor quality fabrics, certainly very cheap – she should have accepted Mr. Collins’ offer of protection when it came, Darcy decided. He felt a strange reluctance at the thought. Obviously, it was not pleasant to imagine a girl he, well – a girl he _esteemed_ in that sweaty man’s embrace – but he pushed the image away. 

He had to be rational. In control. 

Ms. Debourgh loved gossip, so she had told Darcy the whole story – her version of the story at least. How Mr. Collins was the Bennets’ downstairs neighbor. How he had seen the girls grow up, how one day he came to Mrs. Bennet and said he had money and was feeling lonely – and Mrs. Bennet’s daughters were all so beautiful – then Mrs. Bennet told him to take his pick – again, that was Ms. Debourgh’s version of the events, and she had a flair for the crude and the dramatic… maybe part of the tale was exaggerated. 

However it happened though, Mr. Collins had offered to become Elizabeth’s protector, and she had refused – so then the man had chosen Charlotte Lucas instead.

Elizabeth should have said yes, Darcy thought again. She would have a better life. She could eat better, help her family, invest in a better education.

Well, whatever. 

Not his problem. 

He just wondered how Elizabeth would bear Ms. Debourgh patronizing speeches.

**

Surprisingly well, was the answer. 

In Rosings, Elizabeth was very polite, with a glint in her eyes that only Darcy – and certainly Charlotte – could recognize as irony. In fact, Elizabeth even seemed to have a grand time, especially at tea. Ms. Debourgh had ordered Darcy and the two girls to interrupt their interminable fight against The Authority’s paperwork, and everyone gathered in the small but comfortable living room, to drink real Earl Grey in a charming if very old fashioned series of porcelain cups.

“Here, Darcy,” Ms. Debourgh ordered, “be gallant for once – serve the tea – Charlotte, pass me the sugar – Miss Bennet, eat a cookie… Yes, a second one. You are so thin! One would think your parents cannot feed you. Which – of course, maybe they can’t – come on, girl, eat.”

Elizabeth did as she was told. “Those are delicious, Ms. Debourgh, thank you. Actually, my mother is a great cook… Although it is true we are in somewhat reduced circumstances, she does wonders with what she can get.”

“It is true,” Charlotte said, smiling, “I have often eaten at Eliza’s, and…” 

But Ms. Debourgh had no intention to listen to Charlotte – not when she had someone new to scold.

“If you don’t eat, Miss Bennet, your boobs will sag, you will have a sad ass, and you won’t find a protector,” she continued. “You already had your first prospect stolen by your friend,” she added, with a dismissive wave in Charlotte’s direction, “so you’d better shape up if you want to find a man to pay you to open your legs – you know, like Charlotte has.”

Silence. Darcy was aghast. Both girls were very red. 

There was a long pause.

“Well, hum, thank you, madam,” Elizabeth finally said. “That is extremely… unusual advice and I will certainly take it in due consideration.”

Charlotte sprang to her feet. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Ms. Debourgh? I know – we are already having tea, but I’m thinking, if you work late with Mr. Darcy again tonight…” 

Clearly poor Charlotte was eager to change the conversation and flee in the kitchen, but Ms. Debourgh ordered her to sit back down. “Coffee – good idea, but Miss Bennet will make it – a double espresso, with sugar, girl,” she ordered, with an imperious gesture. 

The glint of amusement in Elizabeth’s eyes reappeared, she bowed her head politely, “but of course, madam,” she answered in the most amiable tone – she disappeared into the kitchen while Ms. Debourgh turned on Charlotte about an accounting issue.

Darcy waited one minute and followed Elizabeth.

**

Why, he did not really know – maybe to apologize for Ms. Debourgh behavior. But he found the young woman smiling – half laughing, really while pouring fresh coffee beans in the monstrous vintage roaring apparatus that took a good half of the kitchen counter.

“Are you coming all this way to intimidate me, sir?” Elizabeth said with a smile when he entered the room. “I know how to use an espresso machine,” she added, her smile becoming wider.

“I am sure you do,” Darcy answered, smiling back. He leaned against the counter, watching her – enjoying the view – of a pretty, happy girl in a nice, well-lit room – with the pleasant aroma of freshly grounded coffee rising in the air. Outside was a chestnut tree, a real one, his leaves glossy in the warm air of approaching summer. “It must be strange,” he said, without thinking, “to live in a place without the constant noise of gunshots resonating in the streets.”

Elizabeth turned to him, a smile still dancing on her lips. “Yes, right? I was saying the same to Charlotte earlier – it is peaceful here, although I would miss the constant music – and the street dancing, if I were to move.”

“Yes,” Darcy slowly answered. “I believe I would enjoy the silence, though.” 

Elizabeth did not answer, and like in the elevator, Darcy found himself wanting more of her attention. “You know, I heard something interesting about dancing – in one of those podcasts…” Elizabeth looked at him again. “They said it is the simplest form of art,” he continued. “Dancing doesn’t require any kind of special technology, just the human body – so even in cases of extreme poverty…”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Charlotte said, entering the room, “but I am here on a mission – find the white chocolate cookies, which I hear are _fa-bu-lous_ – but please, resume your conversation… Ms. Debourgh has gone down the basement, I am sorry to say, Mr. Darcy, because she wants to show you her old accounting program, from fifteen years ago…”

“Dreadful thought,” Darcy answered. Which earned him two beautiful, amused smiles from the young women – and suddenly he was in a very good mood, a playful one even. “But thankfully,” he added with a smile, “I know where the white chocolate cookies are. See, I am the one which brought them from Pemberley…” 

He was the only one tall enough to reach the top shelf, so he grabbed the metal box and opened it. “I think as faithful employees of Ms. Debourgh, we should each taste one first,” he declared. “To protect her from any unpleasant surprise.”

“And to check for poison!” Elizabeth offered gaily. “I mean, you never know.”

Darcy nodded. “Gal2 spies could have infiltrated the house!”

“We should do our duties as human counter-agents!” Elizabeth continued, while Charlotte concluded:

“I am ready for patriotic martyrdom.” She took one, Elizabeth did too, and ate it with such a delighted expression that Darcy was mesmerized.

“God. White chocolate… It’s been years.”

“Fuck, it’s good,” Charlotte moaned. 

“Real cocoa,” Darcy explained. “Organic, too – whatever that means now, considering the state of the soil.”

“And you sell it in Pemberley? Who even has the money to buy that stuff?” Charlotte protested, while Elizabeth commented:

“Not people who dance at least! Because apparently, dancing is the poor people’s art,” she said, turning to Darcy with a provocative smile.

He had to smile back.

“It’s not what I said.”

“Oh but – I get it now – that is why you never move from the wall, during the parties, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth continued laughingly, while Charlotte was watching them with a strange expression in her eyes. “You know, Charlotte,” Elizabeth added in a conspiratorial tone, “Mr. Darcy came four times at your father’s _soirées_ – and he never even danced once.”

“Shame on you, sir!” Charlotte said with mock seriousness. “All those non-citizen girls, looking at you, swooning – and you did not relieve their suffering? Really, you absolutely must promise to dance with Eliza next time…”

“Of course,” Darcy gallantly said. “I would be honored.”

Elizabeth threw a discreet but exasperated look at Charlotte. “You are all politeness, sir,” she started slowly. “But…”

Ms. Debourgh entered the room.

“What are you all laughing about?”

“We were talking about dancing, madam,” Darcy said, instantly reverting to formal mode. He swiftly grabbed back the metal box from Charlotte. “And I must admit I just ate three of your cookies. I can pay you back if…”

“Dancing!” Ms. Debourgh interrupted. “Oh, I love dancing. I can’t, of course, because of my leg, but I would have been so good at it. You know who was a great dancer? Georgiana,” she said to the two women, then, seeing their blank stares, she added: “Darcy’s sister. She’s dead.”

There was, again, a stunned silence, and this time even Ms. Debourgh could not ignore the chill in the room. “Darcy, dear, would you go and bring back the C643 up from the basement?” she asked. “The program doesn’t work on the new computer.” 

Darcy slowly exited the kitchen, while Ms. Debourgh was saying, in a stage whisper, “Poor Georgiana – they never even found her body – Darcy really should have taken better care of her – and he should have offered you some cookies, instead of eating them all – that’s men for you, so selfish – come on, take one, both of you – Miss Bennet, eat…”

**

In the elevator. 

With Elizabeth. 

The next morning.

**

And the next.

** 

And the next.

**

In the kitchen, again. With Charlotte and Elizabeth.

Ms. Debourgh was looking for very old registers in the basement, yes, _again_ , recently, she had been spending a lot of her time downstairs, in the archives area – Darcy had the vague suspicion that Charlotte Lucas encouraged her to do so, because, “These files should be in order, madam.” 

And Elizabeth was, _again_ , preparing expressos – this time the three of them were talking about hybrid music, and how it was difficult to dance to it – impossible really, was Elizabeth’s opinion.

“We don’t have the same appendices than those Gal3, hum, gentlemen,” Elizabeth was protesting. “And our center of gravity is completely different – as is our sense of rhythm…”

“Oh, nonsense,” Charlotte replied. “Hybrid music is made by humans, for humans, even if they are inspired by – you can absolutely dance to it – Mr. Darcy, show her!”

Elizabeth shook her head – more amused than exasperated, and Charlotte began the arrhythmic clapping and clicking her tongue that was the best approximation of the alien tempo. Darcy held out his hand, smiling, Elizabeth took it, smiling back, he began to show her the steps – she was very bad at it, so soon they were all laughing, “oh come on, sir, admit it, you took lessons,” Elizabeth protested, “nobody is that elegant while doing something that bizarre,” so Darcy explained that Caroline Bingley hired a tutor, and she insisted to show him the steps after, “How surprising,” said Elizabeth, eyes shining with amusement, but she was clearly having a great time, and Darcy had to put his hands on Elizabeth’s elbows – on her forearms – on her shoulders – on her arms again – you know, to help her –

**

Sunday.

**

Darcy was alone with Ms. Debourgh. It was his day off, but he was still struggling with the annual report – “well, maybe you should work more and spent less time chatting up girls in the kitchen,” Ms. Debourgh grumbled. But she was more worried than displeased. Darcy knew she loved him, in her own brusque way: they wouldn’t have survived without her, really, he and Georgiana, the first years, after their parents’ death. 

“You know those women are beneath you, right, Fitzwilliam?” Ms. Debourgh added. “Both of them. And you should keep your money anyway.”

“I should,” was Darcy’s answer.

“How Charlotte did manage to get such a good price, I will never know. The girl’s ugly! But she is a shrewd one. You don’t intend to outbid Collins for her, do you?”

“Certainly not.”

“You know she negotiated only two nights a week?”

“Really?” Darcy said, wondering how to dig for more information – without seeming too interested in the topic – but he didn’t need to worry, Ms. Debourgh was only too happy to elaborate.

“50 a week! For this kind of money, you generally get four guaranteed fucks, three at the very least. And the girls are supposed to stay the night. If the man wants them to, obviously.”

“What about days? I mean…” Darcy didn’t finish his sentence – he didn’t know what he wanted to ask exactly.

“Charlotte is working. But I suppose… For dinners and everything, and parading the girl around – that is negotiable between the two parties. He should have asked me – Collins should have. I would have gotten him a better deal. I would have said, ‘Mr. Collins, you cannot let a non-citizen girl walk all over you. I will…’”

**

The worms.

Nightmares. Darcy woke up drenched in sweat, again. 

50 a week, he thought, later – he did not want to get back to sleep. Three nights, maybe four. The rest of the time negotiable. He was working long hours, of course, and Elizabeth was too, but he did not want only nights, he wanted – 

No. 

That was crazy. He was crazy. With Georgiana and the situation as it was…

No.

**

The elevator. 

With Elizabeth.

It was the first time he saw her after the hybrid dance. Darcy didn’t talk. (Her hands. Her naked forearms. Her smile.) He didn’t even look at her.

When their eyes met, once, in the middle of the trip, she seemed surprised and offended, for some reason. 

Then she smiled at him and bowed formally, before turning away.

**

It’s not that Darcy didn’t have the cash. He did – more than enough. When Georgiana had reappeared with the scarlet mark on her neck, he began to obsessively save money – a lot of money – Ms. Debourgh was giving him a cut of the profits. “Your mother was like a sister to me,” she had explained, at the time, when she hired him. “She would have wanted this.” 

And Darcy invested every (s) of it, because he needed it for _The Bribe_ , as Georgiana said, with dramatic emphasis. _The Bribe_ was his and Georgiana’s only hope. To bribe a Red, to bribe someone in the administration to reverse Georgiana’s status and erase her condemnation. Even non-citizen would be good enough – it would be wonderful – his sister’s salvation – and it was not an unattainable dream. Of course, system corruption was rampant. You heard stories of criminal big-shots who bought their ways out of the Reds’ database and into citizenship – but you also heard of traps set by the Authority. Reds, or administrative agents, they accepted the money, and then instantly turned over the culprits to the government – the idea ate Darcy at night, more than the worms. 

If he talked to the wrong guy. If he trusted the wrong person – then they would kill him, of course, but more importantly, they would find Georgiana, drag her screaming outside, and…

(Stop.) The money. He had more than 60 000 (Ks) saved, a fortune. More than enough for _The Bribe_. If he could find the right person. One day.

So, anyway - see, on his salary, 50 a week, that was – not much, really.

**

The elevator. 

With Elizabeth. 

The discussion had gotten pretty heated. About the future of humanity, of all subjects.

“Is it really your mission in life to crush any buds of happiness… sir?” she was saying after a particularly pessimistic statement of his – her tone was light, but with an undercurrent of harshness. 

Darcy gave her a cold smile. “I am just saying – maybe it _is_ the end. Maybe the Arrival was the extinction event. It woke up all the worse human instincts – and we just self-destructed, with a little help from our new friends, sure, but…”

Elizabeth was pacing the narrow wagon. “You know that life goes on, right? People have families, they love each other… Illegal schools are popping up in every basement – Jane and I, we teach on Sunday – I mean, tyrannies, they always existed! They never last. Think about it, about human history – is there one really, really bad dystopia that went on, for, I don’t know, more than thirty years?”

Darcy instantly began to list examples.

“But they mellow out,” she protested, “or there’s a revolution… or the system just crumbles on its own…”

“What are you going to do, take a gun and march against the Reds?”

“No. I am not a rebel – some people are, but that’s not me – I try to help in other ways – we just have to wait it out. It will get better. It will.” 

Darcy scoffed.

“I think happiness is a question of choice, _sir_ ,” Elizabeth said, looking right at him. “You can practice. Even in the direst circumstances, you can try to...”

This time he could only laugh. 

Such a cruel joke. Happiness, a choice? He thought of Georgiana, locked in her closet for 14 hours a day. Of girls her age, shot like dogs by the Reds, one by one, in the Sapphire headquarters. 

He thought of the worms. Of his parents, screaming.

“Yeah. Sure,” he finally said. “Whatever.”

**

There was a new party, on Wednesday, in the squatted building. Darcy didn’t go – too much work, and he did not want to purposely seek Elizabeth out. Bingley avoided the place too, for obvious reasons, but Wickham and Reynolds came back in an excellent mood. They had danced with all the Bennet girls, Reynolds was raving about Jane, so much that Bingley got angry: “You cannot afford her,” he blurted, before storming out of the break room.

"Someone still wants to put his dick in Jane's hole," Wickham said, "Anyway... _I_ had a great time yesterday. I had a long talk with Elizabeth Bennet... about you, Darcy, actually. Such a clever girl, that one.” 

Darcy ignored him, as he always did. Reynolds had not taken offense at Bingley's departure. John Reynolds was such a good guy – and he wanted to tell Darcy about Rosie King. Rosie was 19, a friend of the Philips; she had disappeared two days ago, "her parents are frantic with worry,” Reynolds explained, while Wickham tried to change the conversation again. Darcy glanced at Reynolds who took the hint and followed him into the manager’s office, where they could discuss the matter seriously. Rosie had worked at Pemberley for six months a year ago, so Darcy released money from the Employee Fund to set up a reward – for Rosie herself, or for any relevant information. 

Not that there was much chance of success. Rosie was a non-citizen... most probably she would never be seen again. Darcy dismissed Reynolds quickly after - he had a terrible headache - something was wrong with him, he thought. He did not sleep well at night, he was always tired, he had problems focusing, and then, of course, he was always thinking of – her – of Elizabeth - as if he was obsessed, as if – 

**

On Thursday night Darcy and Elizabeth walked back from Ms. Debourgh together. Elizabeth had been particularly busy all day, and when they entered the elevator she leaned against the wall and did not say a word.

The wagon began to slowly slide onward.

Thirty minutes passed, in perfect silence. Darcy was trying not to fidget – he had gone into Ms. Debourgh’s kitchen twice that day, hoping to talk with Elizabeth, but somehow they were never inside the room at the same time – now he felt oddly frustrated – really he couldn’t stay still, so he began to pace the wagon, his eyes on her – she looked at him with surprise - he stopped.

“I love you,” he said. Elizabeth seemed stunned. “I, hum, I tried everything to stop it – I mean, it is ridiculous – so irrational, in my position, but I cannot shake it – I really tried – so I was thinking, 70 a week, or even 80, if you want… I know your family will act entitled to the money, but I feel like you should keep at least a part of it – I – I do not want to haggle about the number of nights or the hours we will spend together, I am sure you’ll do what's right… ”

“Sir,” Elizabeth started, but he didn’t even notice.

“You will have to be discreet, of course, if people knew, it could harm my standing at Pemberley... And Ms. Debourgh, she would think I lost my mind – but what she doesn’t know cannot harm her – I - I could go as high as 90 if you really need more…”

“Sir,” Elizabeth repeated, more forcefully. This time Darcy stopped to look at her. “Because I still think you saved my life that night, I will not dwell on how offensive this proposition is," she said, icy cold. "But I am afraid I must decline. I have no intention of taking a protector, ever.”

There was a silence. Darcy had trouble registering her words. It’s like there was a cloud of fog around him, and the meaning couldn’t get through. 

“What?” he breathed, at last.

"Where does this even come from?" Elizabeth asked, anger clearly rising. "Why – what makes you think that I even like you? You despise my opinions, you glower at me, or rudely ignore me…"

The fog was beginning to lift. "What do you mean, you won't ever take a protector?"

"Did I ever give the impression that I would prostitute myself?"

"What the hell are you waiting for? Marriage?"

"Well – y-yes," Elizabeth said, a little flustered. "Why wouldn't I meet someone who…"

"Oh don't be ridiculous."

Elizabeth flinched. There was a pause before she succeeded to say, "How very gentlemanly. You say you love me, but - I am not good enough to – you believe my value is so low that no man will ever wish to marry me?" 

"It's not – it's not you," Darcy explained, embarrassed. "You are great – you are – of course, I think you are wonderful – but you've got to be realistic here. You are a non-citizen, dirt-poor – with four sisters – your only option is…"

"It is not!" Elizabeth hissed, furious. "And even if it was my only option – do you think I would choose to sleep with _you_? After your insults, after – after what you did to Jane?" Darcy's eyes widened. "Oh yes, Wickham told me yesterday…" she continued, her voice trembling with anger. "It is your fault if Bingley broke up with my sister... You told him she was after his money…"

"She was!"

"No!" Now Elizabeth had tears in her eyes. "No, she wasn't! She loved him! She was heartbroken when he left! But you do not care - you crushed the kindest person on earth, because – because – what? Because Jane doesn't deserve marriage either? We are your inferiors? All non-citizen girls should be whores – it's what you think?"

It was Darcy's turn to flinch. "No," he said. "No. No, of course not. But..."

"And what about Pemberley's money?" Elizabeth interrupted. "The benefits you stole from Wickham! He told me – how he wanted to marry your sister, but you separated them, and then you manipulated Ms. Debourgh into taking his place as manager…"

"This is such fucking bullshit!" Darcy cried. "This is crazy – he never went near Georgiana – and do you even know how dangerous Wickham is? How skilled a liar he can be?"

"Oh because of course, he is the one who is lying here."

"Yes! Yes, he is! God. This is all ludicrous. Your reaction is absurd." Darcy began to pace the room again. "If this is a ploy to get a marriage proposal," he spat, "you are sadly deluded. I…"

"I would never marry you, even if you begged," Elizabeth blurted. "You are obnoxious. You treat people like dirt. You treat _me_ like dirt. And – I am sorry you lost your sister – but – God – after every conversation we have, I just want to hang myself. Is that what you really want from me? To drown every... every optimistic thought I ever had in a sea of misery?"

"No," he breathed. The fog was coming back. His head hurt. "No. On the opposite. I love – I love that you are – so joyful."

"So that's what you'd hire me for – for 70 a week – I mean, you'd hire me to open my legs, as Ms. Debourgh would elegantly say – but my job would be to… vainly try to cheer you up? With my 'joy'? And of course I would never succeed – because you're just – you're horrible – and – I need hope – I need hope in my life – and you would just gleefully watch as your despair would swallow me alive?" 

"No. I… I just…" God, he couldn't see clearly. "No. Forget it, ok? Forget I ever said – just – fucking forget it."

He walked back to the wall – the wagon was still dredging onward, slowly, sighing and creaking, Darcy leaned against the wood – "Humans are so amazing – so resourceful", Elizabeth had said, happily, smiling, in that very place, less than a week ago – _stop_. He was fine. Everything was fine. Nothing had changed – he was still the same, Georgiana, Pemberley, everything was fine – great – it was better this way, really. It was a good thing Elizabeth refused to… – yes, much better – great news – it was such a crazy scheme, to begin with – his life was much safer without her – he was so much better without her – on the other side of the wagon Elizabeth began to bang wildly on the door.

"I want out!" she cried. "Just let me out!"

"I am not going to hurt you," Darcy said in a low voice.

"This is… I just… This trip is taking forever," she whispered, embarrassed, when they arrived fifteen minutes later she got the heavy doors open on her own and all but ran out of the place – night had fallen – he walked slowly back to the supermarket – Pemberley was dark but in the reserve he could see them, the worms, not from his nightmares – real live ones – one spraying had not been enough, he would have to go through the whole process again – yes he could hear the worms gnawing at the walls, everywhere - so he walked to a chair, sat down slowly, and began to sob.


	4. No Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay everyone! This story is just getting longer and longer...! And it is far from over. :)

It would be fine, she thought. 

Everything would turn out just fine.

**

Elizabeth entered the A31 underground parking lot at 6.45 pm. Outside it was still sunny, golden light bathing the broken concrete, hints of summer. A pleasant walk, except for the construction site at the corner of Aristotle and 6: hundreds of guys, underpaid and rowdy, working in hellish conditions to repair the damage made by the Beast. Two days ago, a crew happened on a Tertiary. It was hidden in the darkness, biding its time – experts thought The Beast's ersatz could not survive more than seven days – seemed they were wrong. The thing exploded, three men died, eaten by acid, two were horribly disfigured. The wounded workers were instantly fired – without severance – with no money, no hospitals would accept them – except, they had a union, a pretty strong, violent, and extremely efficient one. 

A strike was on the way. The last one had ended in blood – tensions were at an all-time high, and Elizabeth would not cross the area alone if she could avoid it. So every afternoon, she went underground through the A31 parking lot to the illegal tunnel that connected the Sinari building to Lawson – then through the old shelter, back to the streets, and home. It was a long way, but Elizabeth didn’t mind. She loved walking – it took her mind off things – now she glanced at her phone, 5.48, she was not in a hurry, but maybe she could help her mother with supper and then study for a while – or maybe she could be lazy and hang out with Jane on the abandoned terrace on the roof – grab some homemade iced tea, listen to music and practice that hybrid dance – the parking lot was darker than usual, Elizabeth walked around the broken Chevy and there, leaning against a concrete pillar, was Wickham.

“Oh, my, what are the odds?” he said, straightening up. “Meeting a beautiful woman in such a ghastly place.”

“The odds? I’d say, particularly slim,” Elizabeth answered, happy to see him – but wary. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Something like that.” Wickham’s smile got wider – and what a gorgeous smile he had. “You’re not mad at my impudence, are you, madam?”

“I… am flattered, of course,” Elizabeth answered laughingly, but really her mind was racing. How, exactly, had Wickham learned about her schedule? Was he following her? And now they were _alone_ , underground – he – he would not rape her, would he? Wickham could get all the women he wanted, no need to resort to violence – but – still – Elizabeth’s smile had not wavered. 

“So, how are you, sir?” she asked. “Is business booming at Pemberley?”

“Ah, I quit,” Wickham answered lightly like it was no big deal. “Darcy is a petty tyrant – impossible to work with – I mean, I told you what he did to me, right?” Elizabeth nodded in a non-committal way. “And you know, last Friday,” Wickham continued, “I thought: ‘ok – enough.’ I will not be humiliated by this man anymore. So I just walked out of the place, and slammed the door in Darcy’s face, you know?” Elizabeth was still nodding, but – come on – nobody quit a job like that. No one in Urban Zone 5, anyway, with that salary, and those benefits… people would have killed to be in Wickham’s place. 

_Do you even know how dangerous Wickham is?_ Darcy had said. _How skilled a liar he can be?_

(Come on. She was not going to listen to Darcy, of all men.)

“Anyway, I am starting a new job tomorrow,” Wickham explained, “and I thought, why not spend my last evening of freedom in the most charming company I know? So, Miss Bennet, I was thinking – would you do the honor of going to the lake with me tonight?”

All Elizabeth’s misgivings evaporated. “Oh!” She laughed, and Wickham did too. “Now that is a very tempting offer.”

The lake! It was an artificial one, but there was grass and concrete banks, a few trees and a wooden pier… As soon as temperatures rose, young people of the Zone gathered there to drink beer and sing, dance and flirt in the evening sun. Local bands were rehearsing (well they called themselves bands), and the last time Elizabeth was there with Charlotte and Jane a man had begun to sculpt the ruins with a blowtorch and a chainsaw… He was nuts – his art was interesting though. “But it’s almost 6,” Elizabeth protested, “will we arrive before dark?”

“I borrowed a car,” Wickham said breezily, waving toward a black vehicle, 50 feet away, parked in the shadows. “We will be there in no time.”

“Well,” Elizabeth said, smiling again, “I have to say – cold water and cold beer…”

“And ice-cream,” Wickham added, “and a beautiful woman – that is you, Miss Bennet – we will sit on the pier and watch the sunset while I whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You will laugh them off like you generally do…”

Elizabeth blushed. At the idea of spending the evening with Wickham, she felt a little hot – she turned her head away to hide her emotion and – the car – there was a movement inside –

Two men. 

In the car. 

Elizabeth became very cold. 

_Do you know how dangerous he can be?_

But… you know? Years and years of forced submission, years of being cheerful and unflinchingly polite and sweet, all of this – very useful in some circumstances. Because women had years of practice in hiding their thoughts, and men had no clue. “So, are we going with friends?” Elizabeth asked, pretending she had not noticed anything.

“No! Just us,” was Wickham’s answer. 

“Then, it’s settled,” Elizabeth said, taking a few steps to the left, NOT in the car’s direction, “I’ll just run home first – grab my bathing suit – shall we say in twenty minutes, at the mall?”

“Nah, you don’t need your suit,” Wickham whispered, he took a few steps too, now he was barring her way, “it will be too cold – it’s no fun if we get there late, come on, pretty, get in the car,” he continued, raising his hand to grab her arm…

“THE REDS!” Elizabeth shouted. “RUN!”

And she did.

The last thing she saw was a very worried Wickham looking toward the exit ramp – but she was already racing toward the grey door – toward the stairs - that led to the ground floor, to daylight, to people – blood beating in her ears – she got to the door, a narrow hall, the elevator – she pushed the button – no, no time to wait – the stairwell - the door leading up was locked – so Elizabeth raced down the steps – but – she was being ridiculous, right? There was no danger - nobody was after her – she had overreacted - Wickham would laugh at her next time they saw each other – she would never live that down – sublevel two – another door – on the left – if Elizabeth remembered well, yes, a janitor closet, she rushed in, closed the door. God – Wickham had not even run after her. Elizabeth was panting – and… nothing, no one, yes, total overreaction – she should go back upstairs and apologize – she

Voices. 

Men. 

“Of course she went that way.” (Wickham.) “It’s the only way.”

“There’s no exit here.” (A man. Elizabeth shivered.) “The northern ramp has collapsed years ago.”

“So she has to be hidden here somewhere.” (Another man. Elizabeth kept very still.)

Steps. Trash cans being moved. Someone tried to get a door open. “No, all the basements are locked.” (Wickham.) Then, “I don’t know. She’s resourceful. She might have climbed up the ramp anyway…”

“You’re such an idiot, George,” the first unknown man said, “I’m telling you, if she…” but they were walking away, Elizabeth couldn’t make the rest – a door slammed, she stayed perfectly still – _don’t move, don’t move_ , if the exit ramp had indeed collapsed, that meant the men had to come back the same way – 

They did. Elizabeth heard angry voices. A trash can was kicked. The men were talking again, but she could not make the words. Then, doors. Slamming. 

Silence.

Elizabeth did not move. 

An hour passed. She was trembling. Also, thinking – if _she_ had been chasing somebody in a place without an obvious exit, she would have slammed the doors and pretend to leave. So – _do not move._

Another hour. Nothing. Elizabeth grabbed her phone. There was no connection so deep underground, but she wanted some light – and the time. Around 9 – still not that late. Her parents would not worry still. Maybe Jane would…

She waited.

The closet was old and musty. Around her, dirt, old, empty cleaning supplies. “A New Life is Waiting for You on Callisto!” a poster claimed. It was orange and golden, Elizabeth remembered those, from seven years ago. First, there was Pemberley… The first satellite capable of sustaining human life - all those videos, those pictures, all over the news – all their hopes - then the place was deemed unsuitable for some reason. But there were others, and the Authority had begun to advertise Earth’s colonies to attract settlers… The janitor, whoever he was, had quite the collection of posters, everywhere on the walls, surrounding her, dirty artwork with the names of the muses, “Come To Mnemosyne” and “Calliope Is The new Paradise.” Elizabeth must have been twelve at the time, begging her dad to go there, to flee, at any cost, but Mr. Bennet explained to her that, precisely, cost was the issue. The prices were high, very high – they could not afford the trip – and then – the rumors. 

Of what really happened there. 

9.30 pm.

Elizabeth opened the door and walked out. Then she ran to the elevator, her heart beating – pushing the button – the elevator – upstairs – the entrance hall – people – families walking by, very poor – it was a poor area – even poorer than theirs.

She hastened outside, and then she had a panic attack on the sidewalk. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Slowly, she let herself fall down on the steps – men, men everywhere in the street – any of them could be one of Wickham’s accomplices – maybe this one – or this one – this one with a worker’s blue vest, looking at her in such a peculiar way – 

“Are you ok, madam?” A woman. Very pregnant, with a baby in her arms. “You look a fright,” the woman added, and Elizabeth gave a strained laugh.

“I do, right?”

“You're not from here.”

“No, I am leaving. Right now I swear… I am going home...”

“Not in this state you ain’t. And you should not walk back alone. Curfew’s in an hour, and the streets right now, they’re pretty bad. I’ll call my uncle, he’ll escort you.”

“No – no – thank you,” Elizabeth whispered. “You are very kind. I will call… I will call somebody. Thank you again.”

It was still an hour and a half till curfew actually, plenty of time, but Elizabeth felt still unable to walk. And the woman was right – night was falling. The workers were rumored to do some heavy drinking after hours – she needed an escort. Not her sisters, not her dad… Elizabeth’s hands were trembling – she had the terrifying thought that in other circumstances, the idea of calling Wickham might have crossed her mind. He had always seemed so chivalrous – God. 

She found the right number and began to text.

**

John Reynolds showed up twenty minutes after. “Miss Elizabeth!” he called, smiling.

“Oh my God – thank you for coming, sir,” Elizabeth whispered, while the young man gallantly extended his hand to help her up. “I am so sorry to have bothered you,” she continued, “but my cousins moved away a month ago, and my neighbors are elderly – I needed someone who looked capable and strong,” she added with a strained smile.

Reynolds seemed extremely amused. “Here I am, ready to fend off alien invaders – and drunk disgruntled masons. Look at my shoulders, Miss Bennet. Strong, right? Impressive? Am I impressive?”

“Very!” Elizabeth laughed, but she was still embarrassed. “Really, you are so kind. We do not know each other that well, but you are having dinner with Jane tomorrow, right? So I figured…”

“You figured… your sister is a good judge of people, and if she found me trustworthy enough for a date, I might very well be?”

Reynolds was much smarter than he looked. “Something like that,” Elizabeth answered. “To be honest, I also thought of calling Charles Bingley, but – with the union all worked up like this – it might not be a good idea for a citizen to walk these streets.”

“Nope. They might hang one to the nearest beam just to for show.” Reynolds offered Elizabeth his arm. “So, let’s get you home. What happened?” he asked, a few moments later, his voice prudent, and Elizabeth hesitated before answering prudently too:

“A gang. I escaped.”

“Good.”

Wickham – Wickham was Reynolds’ colleague or ex-colleague. And more importantly, Wickham was a citizen. If someone threw “false accusations” at him, he could sue for slander – he could have Elizabeth deported. Once a non-citizen girl accused an employee of Zone Security of rape. She actually got the man before a judge – she was brave and relentless – they found her beaten to death the day before she was supposed to appear in court.

They walked in silence for a while.

“So, did Wickham quit? His job – at Pemberley?” Elizabeth asked, cautiously. Reynolds threw her a glance, they both knew there was subtext – but he answered, in a neutral voice:

“Wickham did not quit. He stole 1000 creds in the main register; Darcy found out, and Ms. Debourgh fired him – fired Wickham – at long last. It was not his first theft, but they were small sums, and Darcy and I, we couldn’t prove anything. Ms. Debourgh knew Wickham was unreliable, but she had a soft spot for the asshole – because of his father. But this time…”

His voice trailed off. “So,” Elizabeth asked slowly, “Wickham was never considered for the manager position?”

Reynolds laughed. “No.”

She shook her head. “I am such a fool.” 

They walked in silence for a while before Reynolds asked: “Did he try something?”

“Yes.”

“Are you…” he hesitated. “Are you hurt?” 

They both knew what he was really asking. “No,” Elizabeth said. “No. Nothing happened. But I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t. That man has a silver tongue, and then he…” Reynolds shook his head. “He’s a psychopath, in my opinion. He would have harassed all the non-citizen girls – working in Pemberley I mean – harassed or worse – if Darcy wasn’t so determined to protect his staff. In fact, I felt I had two jobs. Assistant Manager and Keeping an Eye on Wickham. Good thing he’s gone.”

A pause. 

“Assistant Manager,” Elizabeth repeated, smiling. “Congratulations. That is quite a feat.”

… for a non-citizen, was the subtext there, too. Reynolds nodded, smiling. “Yep. You can tell your sister I’m a good prospect. That, and the strong shoulders – very strong shoulders – you know. Should I roll them again?”

“No need – you have my vote,” Elizabeth said, laughingly.

They walked in silence for a while. “Lydia and Kitty love Wickham,” Elizabeth whispered. 

“You are going to warn them, right?” 

“Oh yes.”

And then Elizabeth went home, and on a cupboard, a letter was waiting. From Darcy.

**

Of course, Kitty and Lydia wouldn’t believe her. Of course, they cried and protested when Elizabeth had her dad forbid them to even talk to Wickham. Her mom hardly trusted her, because Wickham was a citizen, and sooo polite and charming! Those men in the parking lot – did Elizabeth really hear anything suspicious? Clearly, they ran after her to help! Because they were _worried_! And here was Elizabeth, thinking about kidnapping and gang rape – she was paranoid – she was like her father, taking irrational decisions and wanting everybody to fall in line, as absurd as those decisions were and as much as those decisions hurt _everybody_ and Elizabeth had to drag her mother in the kitchen to say:

“Mom. You want us to find protectors, right?”

“Oh don’t you even start, Elizabeth. We could have been saved! Saved! But you had to refuse Mr. Collins’ proposition, and I know very well that you are poisoning Jane against the mere idea of…”

“Mom,” Elizabeth interrupted, waving Darcy’s letter, “Wickham seduces non-citizen girls and leaves them pregnant to be shot by the Reds. How are you going to sell Kitty and Lydia if they are not virgins? Or if they are, you know, DEAD?”

Her mother was speechless for a few seconds, and Elizabeth thought – if there ever was a time to channel Ms. Debourgh’s level of crassness, this was it.

“Wickham is going to sweet talk them, then throw them against the nearest wall and fuck them for _free_ ,” she said in a pitiless tone, “And then he’s going to boast about plucking them to everybody – and it will be over for my sisters, their reputation ruined – they will be worth _nothing_ and if the Reds hear about it and order a virginity test, what do you think will happen then?”

Mrs. Bennet stayed petrified for a moment – then she began to loudly berate her second daughter for using such awful, terrible language – Elizabeth hadn’t be raised like this – no wonder she could not get a man if she had become so vulgar – but of course, Elizabeth was like her dad, giving no thought to convention and rules, and look at where it had gotten them, and then Mr. Bennet came out of his study to order her wife to stop yelling at Lizzie – which was unheard of, generally he just locked himself in his study and let the storm pass (except the storm never really did). 

And it was brave of him to face the Dragon, it really was, but maybe foolish, because things only got worse from there – Elizabeth’s parents began to scream at each other, so much bitterness there, for so many years – Elizabeth fled to the roof terrace, where all her sisters had already taken refuge. 

You could still hear their parents though. Mary had her headphones on. Jane was aghast. Lydia and Kitty tried to joke, but they were very pale.

“What will you say to Lydia and Kitty when they’ll be prostituting themselves on the street, selling themselves for 30s a pass?” their mother was shouting. “Will you tell them, ‘oh, sorry, girls, but see, I really didn’t want my favorite daughter to accept Mr. Collins’ proposition – because my Lizzie is so damn precious – so now you’re all street sluts – but you understand my decision, right?’”

Jane brought Kitty and Lydia in her arms and tried to shield their ears, saying, “You should not listen to this, sweeties.”

Elizabeth let herself slid on the floor near Mary. There were some muffled voices, then they could all hear their dad say, “it is all going to be fine,” and Mary raised her head to say: “Denial. A Bennet family’s specialty.”

(So much for the headphones.)

“Too bad we cannot sell it,” Lydia whispered – but she stayed huddled in Jane’s arms. 

“Shh, my darlings, mom doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Jane breathed. “She’s angry. She doesn’t mean any of this.”

“You turned my daughter against me!” Mrs. Bennet yelled. “She’s on your side, she’s always been and you both are going to be the ruin of us all!”

“So, Lizzie,” Mary said in a calm voice, lowering her headphones, “Why wasn’t I included in your grim predictions? Why is it always Kitty and Lydia who have to be sold to the highest bidder?”

Elizabeth looked at her sister’s short blue hair, leather vest and tattoos with a small, appreciative smile. 

“Do you want to be sold to a sweaty, bald man with a mustache?”

“Why not? I’d ask for an advance, take the cash, follow him in his bedroom and kill him with a single, precise kick. Then I will bury the body and start again with a new mark.”

“Seems like a solid plan to me,” Elizabeth commented, while an excited Lydia left Jane’s circle of protection and tried to emulate Mary’s expert Taekwondo moves. It was not a success, but it made everybody smile, which was much welcome, but then their parents began to scream again – and it was worse – what they said was worse, so awful that Mary put her headphones back, the girls fled into Jane’s arms again and Elizabeth put her hands on her ears, trying to block everything – trying to block the world – 

It was fine. It was all fine. 

It would get better. 

It had to.

**

“You know, the band wants to go on tour,” Mary whispered to Elizabeth later, when night had fallen, their parents’ voices had at last subsided, and Kitty and Lydia had fallen asleep in Jane’s arms. “Karim and Sia – they want to cross the borders illegally, and just move around for the rest of their lives, playing. I know it’s crazy. I know they’re going to be killed, so I refused – but – a part of me really wanted to go – to flee – to leave this place forever...”

“You and me both,” Elizabeth whispered.

**

Four months passed.

**

Darcy was updating the vendors’ screen on the eastern wall when he heard the voices. 

Elizabeth’s voice. Soft. Polite. Subdued.

Mr. Gardiner’s voice. Loud. Raucous. Rude.

“And where the hell is Darcy now? Boy, get the manager,” Gardiner was telling someone, certainly Reynolds, with a mix of citizen’s authority and natural obnoxiousness. “So this is where you’ll spend the next twelve weeks, Lizzie,” Gardiner continued – Darcy arrived just in time to see astonishment and dread paint themselves on Elizabeth’s face. “Ah, there you are, Fitzwilliam,” Gardiner added, before slapping Elizabeth on the butt. “You’ll take good care of my niece, right?” 

Darcy bowed politely to Elizabeth. Then he nodded a cold hello to Gardiner. All of that very slowly, very formally, to buy himself time. 

“How are you, Gardiner?” he finally asked. As awful as was the man, he was one of Ms. Debourgh's main business associates. Darcy had to be polite… And to gather his wits.

“Yes, yes, hello, Darcy, so Elizabeth will intern here,” Gardiner explained, “I am her mentor – for her certificate – it’s all settled, I sent a message to Ms. Debourgh this morning – she’s here for accounting, Lizzie I mean. But she’ll have to try everything – all the jobs – cashier, everything – you should start her at the delicatessen counter…”

“But, uncle,” Elizabeth began – then stopped. Darcy had never seen her so pale. “Uncle, I thought we were just coming here because… You told me – that my internship would be in a financial services agency…” 

“Yeah, no, that fell through. I told you. Ok, I’ve got to go – Lizzie, you know Darcy has life and death power over you now, right? Kidding. Just kidding.” Reynolds was watching the proceedings with horror in his eyes, as were Harriet and Fanny, two of the non-citizen cashiers. “Not really kidding,” Gardiner concluded with a laugh, then he winked to Darcy and left.

Silence. Elizabeth looked so absolutely terrified – Darcy couldn’t bear to meet her eyes. He bowed again.

“Welcome to Pemberley, Miss Bennet,” he said coldly, doing his best not to look at her. 

Then he nodded to Reynolds, ordering him silently to take care of everything, and walked away.

**

It was cold behind the delicatessen counter, and kind of dark. Elizabeth busied herself with the cash register, trying to learn how everything worked – it was late, but customers could still show up. Another woman, called Elinor, calmly showed her the ropes but soon she had to go back to her post – yes it was very cold, and to be honest, Elizabeth was scared.

 _I can quit,_ she told herself. _If – something goes wrong – if Darcy wants to get his revenge, I can quit – right now – I could walk away_ – but truth was, she couldn’t, really. She had to get her certificate. If there was any hope for her, for her life after – for her family even, Elizabeth had to get it – she was stuck – No! _Nobody is ever stuck_ , she repeated to herself, _you can always leave. Certificate or not, if Darcy is horrible to you, or if he tries to – you can walk out…_ This was the lesson her father had shown her, by standing against the Authority. That there were things one should never tolerate and – 

Right.

And look where her father’s decision had taken them. 

“Good evening, Miss Bennet.” 

Darcy’s voice. 

Elizabeth jumped – actually jumped – and tried her best to not look like a deer stuck in the headlights. “G-good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she stammered, bowing her head as she should – he was standing on the other side of the counter, holding a plastic cup. “I mean, good evening again, sir,” Elizabeth said, forcing a smile.

God, were her hands trembling?

“Indeed,” Darcy said. “I want to apologize for not greeting you as I should have when you arrived. I was… distracted.”

“Not at all, sir,” Elizabeth whispered. Not meeting his eyes, then hating herself for her cowardice and her stupidity – but Darcy was already gesturing toward the cup. 

“I, huh, I brought you hot coffee,” he said, handing her the beverage. I know it’s cold here.” He glanced at an appliance on the left. “This heater is broken, and that light up there too – the guys should be here on Tuesday to repair it.”

If the entire world is not on strike then, Elizabeth thought – it had been months of tension between The Authority and the union and things kept getting worse. But she only said: “Very well, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Darcy looked a little taken aback by her formality – or her fear. He hesitated, then handed her a warm plaid with the word “Pemberley Market” printed on it in ugly blue synthetic letters. “And Reynolds thought you should have this,” he said, there was an awkward pause before he added, “madam.”

Silence. Elizabeth became bright red. She had berated Darcy for his rudeness – so now he made a point to – he was mocking her – just because he could – and she was powerless, she bowed her head again, her cheeks hot with humiliation, Darcy walked away, two minutes passed, Elizabeth didn’t touch the coffee, she didn’t touch the plaid, she busied herself with the register again, and then she started – Darcy was back.

“It sounded ironical, but it was not,” he stated quickly. He met her eyes, his look was genuine, like – like he really wanted to communicate with her, like he desperately really wanted to convey _something_. It was his turn to stammer when he added, “Y-You told me I wasn’t always respectful – to people – to you – you were right, and I really mean to amend my behavior.”

Elizabeth stayed speechless. “Good evening, madam,” Darcy added, very politely – he was a little red too – and he disappeared again, this time for good.

**

“Is Gardiner really your uncle?” John Reynolds asked, later, at closing time. Elizabeth was locking the register and he was putting everything away. “And you didn’t know you were interning here?”

“He is. And I specifically begged him to avoid Pemberley,” Elizabeth hesitated when Reynolds asked why, “Well, I had already interned with Ms. Debourgh, and it wasn't… Anyway,” she quickly added to avoid further questions, “that is why my uncle told me at the last moment. Might even have been on purpose, to show me my place.”

Reynolds put some crates on the grey shelves before commenting: “Charming fellow.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Families are… complicated.” 

Edward Gardiner was her mother’s brother, and he had disapproved of her marriage with Thomas Bennet from the start. When the union failed so spectacularly – in all ways that mattered – Mr. Gardiner took a sadistic pleasure, in Elizabeth’s opinion, in helping them – just a little – never with money – to show them how wrong Fanny (his sister) had been and how superior he was and – all these rumors about him and the girls who slaved in his warehouses – Madeline, his wife, was asking for a divorce.

“Ok, you know what – forget diplomacy – my uncle’s an ass,” Elizabeth added, with a laugh.

Reynolds nodded. “I’ve heard.” 

“But I’ve got to play his game right now. He endorsed me for the Teaching Center – he knows everybody – people I could work for in the future – and oh, by the way, thank you for the plaid.”

“That was not me, that was Darcy,” Reynolds said distractedly. He put down some barrels on a dolly. Oh, “Bingley says hi,” he added, “he will be back in a few days. Despite your uncle, I’m glad you’re here, Elizabeth,” Reynolds added with a smile before he left – and that was Elizabeth’s first evening at Pemberley.

**

Work was at the delicatessen counter for a few days, then in the produce section, then behind the register, as a cashier; days were long, lunch was in the cafeteria, with the other girls - food was simple but certainly better than most of the employees were used to eat at home. Elizabeth generally saw Darcy once a day – he said good morning or good-bye – always very formal – but she rarely met him otherwise. Maybe he was avoiding her, or he was just busy – during lunch, the conversation always turned around the strike.

“The Reds are going to slaughter the men down with machine guns,” Harriet was whispering with a sort of dark glee, “there will be a riot, and then The Authority will napalm us – the entire Zone – you know, like they did in Urban Zone 17,” she added, clearly relishing her role as a bearer of bad omens. 

“We don’t really know it happened,” Elinor answered coolly.

“They killed everybody. Maybe not with napalm, but they did.”

“At least one Zone had been entirely wiped out before, that is… probable,” said Elizabeth, trying to emulate Elinor’s rational demeanor, “but it was a decade ago – things have changed – and it would already have happened. The Reds, I mean, firing on workers. Except, they're not. Months, and we’re still at a standstill. Clearly, the Authority doesn’t want to escalate tensions.”

Elinor was intrigued. “Why, do you think?” 

“One theory is that skilled employees are too valuable – and too rare, still. We do not have an infinite supply of expert masons or talented electricians.”

“It makes sense,” Elinor mused, “But why not offer them Citizenship then? To make them feel valued?”

“I have no idea,” Elizabeth said – her dad would be cynical of course, saying that present citizens were blocking the process – when people have privilege, he explained, they do not want to share it – but that was a heavy topic for a supermarket cafeteria. 

Elinor shook her head. “Anyway – I hope you’re right.” 

“I wonder if we would be safe here,” Harriett wondered, looking at the ceiling. "If the Authority decided to get rid of us. Pemberley is pretty deep underground.”

“It would resist a Beast, but not a thorough bombing,” Fanny said, at the other table – she had been listening – Harriett leaned toward Elizabeth, whispering:

“You know he lives here? Darcy?”

“ _Mister_ Darcy,” Fanny corrected, looking scandalized. 

“In the reserve,” Harriet continued unabashedly. “Mr. Darcy has an apartment in town, people say, but he doesn’t stay in it. He sleeps in the supply,” she stated with the same delighted voice than when she was predicting everybody's death.

Elinor shook her head. “Do not gossip, Harriett.” 

“Some people even say he keeps a woman in there,” Harriet added.

“Will you SHUT THE HELL UP?” 

Everybody started – Elinor had stood up, very pale – then she told Harriett to follow her, and the backstage discussion must have been rather unpleasant, because when Harriett came back at the table, her eyes were red – later, when Elizabeth met Elinor in the locker room, she commented quietly:

“That was a strong reaction - for some harmless gossip. Sure, Harriett can be a little - young, but...”

“Gossip is always harmful.”

Elizabeth would learn days later – from Harriett, of course – about Elinor's younger sister. The girl had an affair with a citizen, who then unceremoniously dumped her – there was gossip – the Reds ordered a virginity test – young Marianne was never seen again.

Elinor opened her locker – she was still pale. “Harriett doesn’t realize – most of them, they don’t see how good they have it here. And how it’s all thanks to Darcy. He has all the power, and he yields it with grace. I worked in other places... Harriett and Fanny and the others, they don’t… they don’t get it, and Darcy... You know what? I just don’t want to hear a word against him.”

**

Later, walking home, Elizabeth felt quietly proud – of him - even if she had no right to do so – maybe it was irrational, but it was a soft, gratifying sensation, that she silently enjoyed, without analyzing it too much.

**

“I want to see her,” said Georgiana, in a low voice. “Fitzwilliam, could I get a look at her? Through the glass – if I sneaked into your office – like I did that one time…”

“Georgiana,” Darcy said quietly. “It… She doesn’t want me.”

“Well, she is a fool,” his sister answered with passion. “I could tell her… I would tell her what a wonderful brother, a wonderful man you are. I would! But…” She brushed the scarlet sign on her neck. “She would hate me, right? She would take one look at this, and thoroughly despise me…”

“No! Of course not. Georgie, she’s not like that. She is - kind - she would love you, of course.”

“But you refuse to introduce her to me.”

“It’s too dangerous, you know that...”

“Still… I wish I could meet her,” Georgiana said again. She turned to her brother with a smile. “I could write a list of your qualities and slip it in her locker – I would sign it: ‘an anonymous female admirer of Fitzwilliam Darcy’.”

“Indeed, that is what I need, Georgie,” his brother answered with a smile. “A letter of recommendation. It will solve everything.”

“I am glad you agree,” his sister said, smiling back. “There! All settled.” Her brother was silent for a while. Georgiana put her hand on his arm and whispered, “You are better, but... you are not over her still.”

It had been such a dark time. After his declaration - after Elizabeth's refusal. He had... crumbled. Weeks going by, his entire sense of self, falling apart on the floor in a thousand pieces, and he had to rebuild himself from scratch.

“I will forget her - I will,” Darcy answered, in a low voice. “Obviously, it is more difficult, while… You know. While she is here.”

"Yes,” Georgiana whispered back, before repeating, again, “Oh, how I wish I could see her…”

**

Then Bingley came back.

** 

“Elizabeth – Miss Bennet should come to Cocktail Time with us!” he cried, the very night of his return. All the regular employees were gone; Reynolds and Darcy were closing and Elizabeth was still going through the registers – she had a report to write. “She is P2,” Bingley declared to Reynolds, while Darcy raised his head to listen. “She’s P2 – you’re P2, right, Elizabeth?”

“I... am not sure,” she answered laughingly. “Accountants are, I suppose, but I am still an intern – or a student – what exactly is cocktail time, Mr. Bingley?” 

“You’re P2. She’s P2,” Bingley decided, while Reynolds protested:

“We didn’t purposely exclude Elizabeth from Cocktail Time, Bingley. We just didn’t do it when you were away.”

“Elizabeth,” Bingley continued, “you should be warned: Darcy and Reynolds are dull fellows with no sense of fun, and if I wasn’t in their life they would die of an overdose of stuffiness, gloom, and duty. I am officially reinstating Cocktail Time, and you are invited. She is, right, Darcy?”

“She is P2,” Darcy declared evenly. “I can’t see how we can _not_ invite her. Rules are rules.”

**

Cocktail Time was spent in a grey, windowless breakroom with a flailing neon. There was free coffee, free decaf (the bad, bitter sort) pouring of a very old coffee dispenser, and a free choice of synthetic juice, bad cookies and bottled water which were just a few days over the expiration date. But it was also the place where Bingley, Reynolds, and Darcy relaxed after a long day – and it was really fun... For many reasons, but the first was, let's be honest, that it was far from unpleasant to be every night the center of attention of two rather handsome men. Even better, Elizabeth thought, when neither of those men – Reynolds or Bingley – were actually interested in her in a romantic way – it was Jane they were both thinking of – but yes, that was even better, because the friendship and the laughs were genuine, even the light flirting was without consequence – Elizabeth could enjoy her time without fearing she was crossing a line.

“Cocktail Time for Supermarket VIPs!” Bingley announced, around 8.30; Reynolds generally joked about getting an Old Fashioned or a Manhattan, then Bingley or Reynolds gallantly got the (free) (awful) coffee for Elizabeth before making one for themselves, Darcy always got his beverage last, and conversation would quickly flow - Darcy would sometimes join, or he would just listen, leaning back upon the white wall. Discussions about art and politics were his favorites, and even when he was silent, Elizabeth imagined that she felt his eyes on her – his attention gave weight to those conversations, a significance that their talks hardly deserved. She knew she was trying to be more witty, more clever – sparkling – because he was watching – one evening, as Darcy had talked about the fascination he had for space and alien species, and the hope that one day – when humanity got better and into space again, they could learn more – Elizabeth could not help to address him with a smile:

“That sounds awfully like optimism, sir.” Then she colored – for no reason, just because she had to meet his eyes – she hid her reaction under a teasing smile.

“More like wishful thinking, I believe,” he said, looking back with a smile of his own, and Elizabeth could have sworn there was a little color on his cheeks.

“Darcy had always been passionate about space travel,” Bingley stated. “He’s listened to every podcast about alien civilizations – you should hear him rambling about it. But please, Fitzwilliam – now that we have, at last, a beautiful girl among us, you’re not going to bore us with science talk, right?”

“Oh but this is not boring at all – I would love to hear more!” Elisabeth cried with sincerity – then she blushed again, thinking she had been much too forward. “I mean – it’s not what I mean – I mean, those are fascinating subjects – sir.”

She turned to the coffee machine, trying to hide her embarrassment, and when she turned back Darcy was looking anywhere but at her.

“But wasn’t your father writing about that precise topic, Elizabeth?” Reynolds asked. “Jane told me…” He paused – it was his turn to be embarrassed. He was still dating Jane – Bingley generally pretended indifference, but he was not the most skilled of actors. “I mean,” Reynolds finally started again, “Miss Bennet told me once that your father’s thesis was about Gal3 civilizations?” 

Elizabeth smiled. “Indeed – and he is still blogging about it sometimes – when he can be bothered – he pretends that no one would read his ramblings anyway… That nobody will care about academic long-winded analysis of galactic mores while people are still starving.”

“It is patently false!” Darcy intervened with passion. “On the opposite - and contrary to what Maslow says - music, philosophy, knowledge, spirituality – for some of us – they are a great help in those dire times.”

“Yes - I agree! Art and science - and emotions - that is how we feel human,” Elizabeth said with deep feeling – and then she blushed and turned away and decided to give all her attention to the decaf button.

**

“Jane,” Elizabeth asked, extremely early the next morning, sipping (hardly better) coffee on the roof terrace, “you are not leading John Reynolds on, are you?”

“Of course not!” her sister answered, embarrassed. 

Silence. “That is,” Jane continued, “he knows. John knows I am still attached to… That I still have lingering feelings for…”

“Bingley?”

Jane turned a little red. “Yes.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Jane…”

“I know, I know, but – John says – he says he understands – he says he is willing to wait,” Jane explained, stumbling on her words, “And… I want to like him. I do.”

“John is wonderful,” Elizabeth stated with conviction. “He can seem kind of low key, I suppose, compared to Bingley’s radiance, but he is funny and clever, and a good man, and…”

“And still I am not falling in love with him!” Jane cried – with distress – and guilt, “I am not – so what I am supposed to do, Elizabeth? Please tell me - what am I supposed to do now?”

Her sister was at loss for an answer. Time passed before she could utter, “Dearest, I do not know. I wonder why people fall in love... or don’t. It seems there’s no rhyme or reason to it.”

“Do you think I do not struggle? Jane protested – clearly agitated – more distressed that Elizabeth had seen her for a long time. “John is a good man, as you said, with a great job, and money, and he wants to marry me – if mother knew – she would drag me to church on the spot – and maybe she should, maybe I should marry him – our family would be saved – oh my God, you think it is my duty, too, do you, Lizzy?

“No!” Her sister cried.” No, of course not, Jane, I would never… I refused Mr. Collins, do you think ever I would try to push you to…”

“Oh, the comparison is hardly fair,” Jane said with a strangled laugh, and Elizabeth had to laugh too – but she felt wretched – in the sky, dawn was breaking - in a world that was wrong, like a bad painting, angles skewed, however you tried to look at it. 

“Jane, do you remember Mr. Tilney?” 

“Our philosophy teacher?” 

It was a good school – that they had been expelled from, two days after their father published his paper against The Authority. “Mr. Tilney’s introductory speech..." Elizabeth explained. "He said, 'All philosophy is basically a sophisticated way to say ‘life sucks’, and to explain all the different ways it does.’”

Jane had another strangled laugh. “Yeah."

Minutes passed - Jane drank the last of her coffee - "but you are correct, Lizzie – I have to act as I think right,” she concluded, her voice strained, then she stood up brusquely and left for work – leaving Elizabeth wondering – and the next day Jane told John Reynolds that they should stop seeing each other.

**

“I wonder what’s the point of love,” Reynolds told Elizabeth, a week after, when they were clearing shelves together in Pemberley. It was the first reference he had ever made to the matter, and his relationship with Elizabeth was as friendly as ever. “I mean, why do we fall in love?” he continued. “The human race could perfectly survive without it, right? Please – please tell me.”

“I have no clue,” Elizabeth whispered back, and Reynolds just nodded, and they kept throwing bean cans in the expired box.

** 

Next Thursday evening there was a celebration at Cocktail Time – Bingley inherited some money and increased his investment in Pemberley – Elizabeth didn’t know the details, but Darcy had always treated Bingley more like an equal than an employee – they toasted with awful coffee and drank bad apple juice and had a merry time with it all. 

« I, hum, I actually got good news too,” Elizabeth said, blushing – again feeling Darcy’s eyes on her, before continuing, “I don’t think I had told any of you – a few months ago, I submitted an essay to the UZ5 History Society. They have a special jury, open to non-citizen, so I thought I would try – it is not history really, more micro-sociology – I wrote about the difference in children’s imaginary worlds, with their present knowledge that humans are not alone in the universe – I based my work on kids in my building, studying their games – obviously, it is a very small sample… Well, I’ve got – my paper got nominated – and I am admitted to the Citizen course, next October – free of charge.”

“Jesus, Elizabeth, that is amazing,” Reynolds said, astonished. She blushed even more – women did not brag about their accomplishments, after all.

“It – it kind of is – right?”

“It is,” Darcy said, his voice deep. “This is an extraordinary accomplishment, Miss Bennet. You should be proud. In fact,” he added, ‘I am sure you are, and you only pretend to be modest.”

“You know me too well, sir,” Elizabeth said – her cheeks scarlet. Fortunately, she was saved from further embarrassment by Bingley commenting happily:

“Now we have to read your work – you will show it to us, right? And what an incredible gift too, because your birthday is near, if I’m not mistaken – Jane told me…” 

Awkward pause. 

“Well, she – it was a few months ago,” Bingley added quickly, then exclaimed, with a sudden realization, “Actually – Elizabeth - your birthday – isn’t it today?”

“It is,” she whispered, and of course there were congratulations and cheers.

“Wait,” Darcy said, he stepped out of the room and came back a few minutes later with a cupcake and a candle, that he lit up. 

“Hey, that’s the real stuff!” Reynolds commented, eying the cake with an expert look. 

“I didn’t get a cupcake for _my_ birthday, Bingley mock-protested. Elizabeth was speechless for a while – then turned crimson – then she could not help smiling, it was like she was on a cloud, and finally she gathered her wits enough to ask:

“Is that praline?”

“Organic,” Reynolds stated before Darcy could. “I know my products.”

Elizabeth’s smile got even wider – and then there was one of those moments – you know? – when everything is floating – everything's perfect – Bingley and Reynolds were smiling too, maybe at Elizabeth’s obvious delight, maybe because they were thinking of past birthdays - of that magic feel, when you are a kid – Elizabeth took a step forward to blow the candles.

“Make a wish,” Darcy whispered.

She did.


	5. Civilized Societies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I did some publicity for my two Pride and Prejudice Variation books, "The Governess" and "Do you love me?" under my author name, Laura Moretti.
> 
> You can find the books here: https://www.amazon.com/Laura-Moretti/e/B07B3W5Y9R/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
> 
> And, sadly, the next chapter will be the last!

“What are you going to do?” Georgiana asked, that night, in the reserve.

He buried his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know.”

It was worse, in a way. 

**

Half a week later both Darcy and Elizabeth received instructions from the Teaching Center – instructions that Mr. Gardiner was supposed to give (but didn’t bother to) – Elizabeth was supposed to shadow Darcy for a day.

They were both very, very polite about it. Darcy came to get Elizabeth at the fruit stand (Elinor found someone to cover the shift), once in his office, Darcy politely offered Elizabeth some coffee, she politely declined, he pulled out registers and launched the accounting program – he began to politely explain all, while Elizabeth politely listened and nodded. Darcy’s voice was neutral, with just the right nuance of business-like friendliness, Elizabeth answers were perfectly amiable, with just the right nuance of polite respect – it was going to be a very, very long polite day – but then Elizabeth’s interest was piqued. To the profane, accounting sound dry, abstract, while it is really a reflection of life – the numbers mirroring the thousand things happening in Pemberley – soon Elizabeth’s eyes were shining, she was asking questions about the cafeteria, financial investments and the relationships with producers – her reserve melting – till she realized what she was doing and stopped abruptly.

“I apologize, sir,” she commented, hiding her embarrassment with a laugh. “My enthusiasm got the better of me, I fear. I should not ask so many questions.”

A pause. “On the opposite. It is a pleasure to see you so engaged.”

Elizabeth looked at him, puzzled. Darcy’s voice was so dispassionate – he must have felt her hesitancy because he gave her a small smile. “I had another intern six months ago, Anne – sent by Ms. Debourgh – one of her friends’ daughter. She was so bored, from beginning to end, and didn’t bother to hide it. I do not think she asked one question, just looked at me with huge, vacant eyes…” 

Elizabeth laughed, but decided to rein on her questions anyway – the next half hour was so calm, Darcy gave Elizabeth a strange look – then they discussed the Employee Fund – which really was a _non-citizen_ Employee Fund – Elizabeth’s questions were polite, Darcy’s answers were too, the almost ceremonial back and forth lasted for a good ten minutes before Elizabeth gave another short laugh. 

He looked at her with surprise.

“It’s just… We are very… formal,” Elizabeth explained.

She instantly feared she had overstepped – but amusement flashed in Darcy’s eyes.

“Politeness is the cornerstone of civilized society.”

“Indeed it is, sir.”

Nothing much happened after. Darcy spent hours analyzing Pemberley’s financial situation with her – he was very generous with his time, Elizabeth thought – the awful tension had abated. Then she went back to her post – in the evening when she left, Darcy was working on a computer glitch, not far from the doors – he bid her good-night – she answered in kind – bowing her head – then he met her laughing eyes – his expression then, it was unguarded, for a fraction of second – Elizabeth felt – difficult to describe – a little pinch, maybe a small jolt – she walked back home with a hurried step.

**

Three days later the Reds fired into the crowd. 

It was all a misunderstanding, really. The strike had been going on for months now. The construction sites were deteriorating, nobody had worked on them for an eternity – metal beams and half-finished walls just left there to rot. Three workers were walking on a catwalk far above the ground, to avoid a Reds’ street block – the catwalk broke, taking a part of the construction with it – a rain of metal and mortar crashing down on the Reds, missing one of them by a hair – they thought it was an attack, and fired.

It was 8 pm, two hours before curfew. Night had not fallen yet – chaos spread like wildfire. People ran in the streets, looking for cover – Red officers barging orders, machine guns taking aim – the strikers were far from unarmed either, and they had all the time in the world to train – civilians, families were taken in the crossfire. It could be interpreted as an open rebellion, so the Reds began to follow protocol – barring exit roads, trapping an entire neighborhood, then advancing, street by street, building by building, shooting anyone on sight. 

Elizabeth was still in Pemberley, alone with Darcy – she had to finish her internship report – they heard screams and shots – Elizabeth’s phone began to burst with panicked texts – before all communication went dead. Pemberley’s doors were already closed, but to people trapped by the advance of death squads, the underground mall seemed like a safe haven – they rushed downstairs through the broken escalators and began to bang on the metal shutters, begging for sanctuary – more were coming, the first were in danger of getting crushed – Darcy ran to the controls and opened the doors, and that is how hundreds of refugees happened on Pemberley floor – as soon as they were safely inside, Darcy began to close down everything again. 

“The place has to look dead,” he explained. “If the Reds even glimpse a hint of life, they could barge in and…”

… "slaughter everybody" was what he didn’t need to add. “But what if more people come?” Elizabeth whispered.

Darcy killed the lights. “We will decide then.” 

People were herded to the back of the store, with orders to keep quiet. Just in time: outside, the noise became deafening – machine guns, screams, grenades – time was frozen, parents huddling with their children in the dark – some Elizabeth knew, her neighbors, “her” kids from Sunday school – and then – of course more people did come. Banging on the doors, begging for help – but the Reds’ were on their heels, barging orders – if Darcy opened the doors now, it would reveal their presence – he didn’t move – Elizabeth couldn’t imagine – the lives of the few against the lives of the many.

Inside people were deathly silent. Outside – short bursts, desperate calls – more shots. The screaming stopped – the sickening thuds of bodies falling on the shutters – then, nothing, just the Reds’ metallic voices. If the Reds banged on the doors now, demanding entrance – or if the refugees made noise – if a child cried – but none of them did – growing up under constant pressure, you learned things, even at a very early age – the Reds stayed not longer than a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity – the sound of boots on the metal steps – they were gone.

**

There was nothing to do but wait. 

**

Elizabeth distributed water, then food. An hour later, Darcy tentatively turned lights on in the back of the store, to better be able to help the wounded. Hours passed. People had settled on the floor – near the plastic toys, the bath products, the dry pasta sections. Children fell asleep. Noise still got through the metal shutters – distant shots – grenades, again. Darcy had returned to his place near the main entrance – Elizabeth unconsciously walked to him – he was looking towards the reserve – then they both briefly contemplated the ceiling. 

Elinor and Fanny’s conversation, in the cafeteria. About the probabilities of Pemberley’s structure holding against an aerial strike… it all suddenly seemed very relevant. If the Authority decided to retaliate against the “rebellion” by eradicating the Zone – or even only the neighborhood – then – it was only a question of hours – it could happen this very night. 

Elizabeth’s first thought was of Jane, then of her family – hopefully they were safe – hopefully they had decided to hide down in the old shelter – but would it hold? Against a military strike? And even if it did – what then – suddenly Darcy started – he looked worried – _more_ worried – he glanced to the ceiling again, and Elizabeth’s eyes widened, because believe it or not – forget the Authority – there was a more pressing peril.

**

The Beast.

**

“The… Surely we’re not crowded enough,” Elizabeth whispered, “surely two hundred people do not generate enough heat to attract One.” 

Darcy hesitated. “We don’t really know how They work.”

“Experts say humans don’t really trigger Their fall. Energy attracts Them – electricity – massive discharges, bombs, explosions…”

Another grenade – somewhere – not that far. 

“Right.”

A Beast. Pemberley would weather the fall – right? The mall had been carved in an old army underground warehouse after all… but then – again – what about the aftermath – the acid – 

“Yes, it’s what I read too – energy discharges,” Darcy continued. He gave a last glance to the ceiling, before turning to Elizabeth, “I guess we’ll see.”

“Hopefully we won’t.”

He laughed. “Yes.”

Their eyes met – his expression was unreadable – after a while she lowered her gaze, but didn’t walk away – it was not unpleasant to be so close to him, like they were allies against death, fear, fate – he didn’t move either – Elizabeth’s mind focusing on the craziest things, like – how would they clean up the blood on the shutters – for the reopening – and then – nothing. 

The world fell silent. No more shots, no more explosions, nothing.

A few refugees had joined them near the door – Elizabeth quickly nodded at a man she knew – Götz was his name, he was a member of the underground network that organized the illegal schools – they also managed non-citizen cooperatives specialized in medicinal products, illegal, of course. 

“Maybe be the Reds left – maybe they evacuated, I mean,” a man said. “Maybe the strikers won.”

“That – would not be good news,” Götz whispered. 

The Authority’s retaliation would then be certain, Elizabeth thought. Although – a workers’ victory? There was no chance in hell – but that silence was bizarre.

“Maybe they are waiting for morning,” a woman offered.

A man shook his head. “Maybe they are evacuating the Reds – before the strike.”

Nobody commented.

Or maybe it was the silence before The Beast, Elizabeth thought – it didn’t make sense, but what did? 

**

Then, again, waiting.

**

The Beast did not fall.

But a XKS appeared.

It began unobtrusively. The air began to shimmer; sparks flying, blue and grey, in the fruit section. A little girl laughing and jumping, trying to catch them; Darcy was close when it happened. “Bubbles!” the girl cried, “Mom, look!” 

There was now a real disturbance in the air – Darcy blanched.

Then turned to Elizabeth.

He gestured toward the sparks – saw the stupefaction, then the realization in her eyes. “Get them out of there,” he ordered, in a low tone. “Calmly. If panic strikes, we’re going to look at dozens of deaths.”

Elizabeth just nodded. “Hey guys,” she announced cheerily, “we’re closing this section… This way, please – to the frozen goods,” she added, people did not comply at first – behind Elizabeth the air was starting to show a metallic hue, so she began forcibly getting the kids out – never losing her smile – then she whispered the truth to Götz and enrolled his help – the last person was out of the row when Darcy’s voice resonated in the microphone.

“People, we’re having a chemical emergency. Nothing fatal, but it would not be healthy for humans to breathe here long term – we’re going to evacuate you in the old cinema upstairs – please slowly proceed to the eastern emergency exit – families first.” Darcy’s voice was serene, with a tinge of humor even, perfect for dedramatizing the situation, Elizabeth joined him near the eastern door, there were half-broken stairs there, going up – she kept to one side of the exit, Darcy to the other, people were asking questions – some of them wanted to take their chances in the streets – others wanted to know if the aerial strike would happen – Elizabeth smiling and reassuring and ushering them out, out, OUT – she and Darcy, a team of comfort and lies…

Then Pemberley was, at last, deserted.

They went back in. Maybe it was unwise, but they both wanted to _see_ , or maybe Darcy felt obligated to stay, like the captain of a sinking ship – or a ship that was in bizarre, unhuman peril. The fruit row was engulfed in light – the blue shimmer suspended in midair, slowly creeping onwards like a gigantic, luminous worm, disintegrating all that was alive, or had been alive at some point – fruits, vegetables, some rare insects – first transformed in shimmering shadows of themselves, then reduced to their geometric lines, black and white, like a sketch – before vanishing forever – humans and animals would suffer the same process, Elizabeth knew. 

It had already happened, many times. The creatures appeared randomly on Earth, except, of course, nothing is ever random – the beings manifested, some experts said, when “something interesting happened” … but what was interesting, by Gal3 standards? They had materialized during battles – during the war – but not at specific, obvious historical turning points – sometimes they just emerged in the middle of a crowd – hundreds of people screaming and flying, parents being disintegrated before their children’s eyes – other times they had arisen during an art show, sometimes in a deserted forest – trees and animals shimmering, being reduced to mathematical vectors before being lost forever.

You can imagine the myriad of crazy theories – some people had jumped into the iridescent light, to “see” – if they had made startling discoveries, none had come back to share. And of course the Authority had experimented with prisoners – if you were into conspiracies, you’d hear that the government kept one of those creatures captive in Zone 17, an idea that always made Elizabeth’s dad laugh. “It’s not that the Authority would not do it,” he explained, “it’s that it’s hilarious that people think that they could. Our spaceships are not even able to deliver goods to Callisto on time – will you tell me, please, Lizzie, how would they contain such creatures?” - the most exciting theory, for Elizabeth at least, was that those beings were not creatures at all – but that they were doors.

Moving, shifting galactic doorways.

Elizabeth and Darcy were both watching, fascinated. The creature – the _phenomenon_ – was still shifting onwards, advancing very, very slowly – Elizabeth raised her hand – they were of course nowhere close enough to touch it, but Darcy gave her a worried glance anyway – “I am just… trying to imagine…” she said. “What do you think is waiting, on the other side? Where – where do you think we would end?”

“Anywhere is better than here,” Darcy whispered.

Elizabeth nodded again. “Yes.” 

It didn’t seem the “thing” was going to change paths anytime soon and the feeling of danger abated, Elizabeth and Darcy’s fear slowly turning into wonder – her thoughts wandered – fire dancers – music – faraway stars – before she realized – was it really her imagination, or – the phenomenon influencing her somehow? 

“Do you – are images flashing in your head?” she asked. Darcy nodded. “What do you see?”

“Beauty,” was his only answer, Elizabeth nodded again, she felt very awake – almost drunk – doors in her mind, slowly turning – but at the same time she was also still there, still Elizabeth, anchored in the very practical reality of the produce row of a second-zone supermarket. “It is drifting toward the reserve,” she breathed, after a while. “There’s no one there, right? I’ll go check.”

Silence. Darcy turned to her. A fleeting second of – perfect impassibility – then he answered, coldly:

“No. I’ll go.”

“Both of us can cover more ground…”

“No. I’d rather you keep an eye on the phenomenon. To warn me, if its speed or direction varies.”

Darcy stayed a long time in the reserve, Elizabeth watching the ripples in reality, the universe being reduced to its mere lines – to its most simple expression – the eerie feeling didn’t come back, but still

_– doors –_

She could step in them right now – end up anywhere – and never come back.

**

The phenomenon ceased soon afterward. There was no special effect; the shimmer just dimmed; the air returned to normal. Darcy went to check on the refugees. He came back with Götz, who explained he had ventured outside with a small group. 

The Reds were gone. The streets were deserted.

People wanted to go home. 

**

The evacuation was a lengthy process – it was almost 4 am when Elizabeth found herself alone with Darcy again – outside, dawn was breaking.

“You should sleep here,” Darcy stated. He seemed so tired, and Elizabeth could hardly think. “Whatever happened,” he continued, “we’re still under curfew.”

“Yes. Thank you. I mean, thank you, _sir_ ,” Elizabeth added after a short pause. She was so exhausted – and it felt so strange, after what they just witnessed – after what they had just shared – human formality seemed so desultory – but it was not, she reminded herself – politeness was the cornerstone of civilized society after all. “I’ll just… I’ll sleep on a chair in the cafeteria.”

“Certainly not. Please use the couch in my office. I will be…” Darcy waved wearily toward the reserve – Elizabeth didn’t even remember how she made it to the couch, it was a nice, grey, comfortable one – but sleep wouldn’t come. 

The Reds. Recalled from the streets. So – yes. Presumably an aerial strike was on the way – strangely she was too tired to care – her entire head throbbed, _doesn’t matter, chances are, I won’t wake up tomorrow, none of us will_ – images of Jane, of her dad, dancing through Elizabeth's mind, but the visions weren’t sad, Jane was smiling – Elizabeth loved her, loved them both – Darcy was there too – then – black – when Elizabeth opened her eyes it seemed an eternity had passed, in her dreams she had gone through a thousand galactic doors – Darcy was there. 

Not in her dreams. For real. 

In the office. 

“I am so sorry,” he whispered, in the relative darkness. “I needed coffee – the good one.”

She heard him fumbling with the expresso machine beside the desk. “What time is it, sir?”

“6.30. No, no, don’t move,” Darcy added quickly, “we’re closed today. We need to clean up and restock and, anyway…”

Anyway – bodies in the street may not incite people to go shopping. But… They were still alive, Elizabeth thought. Which meant… No strike. She sat up. 

“Any news?” 

The hiss of the coffee machine. Elizabeth’s eyes were getting accustomed to the darkness. Another hiss; Darcy approached with two cups and handed her one. He sat down on a chair nearby – the lights were still off – it was like they were hiding in a war shelter, Elizabeth thought, or in a secret hole, in the center of the Earth. Far from Beasts, Reds and reality.

“I did some – perusing,” Darcy said, which meant, of course, that he watched the illegal news. “People say there will be no retaliation. The Authority actually backed down. They are negotiating with the workers.”

Elizabeth staid stunned.

“The rumors are,” he continued, “they need a skilled workforce. With the recent progress of agriculture in the south, the government has big reconstruction plans – I guess someone decided that gunning down the people they needed to implement them might not be the cleverest move...”

“That…” Elizabeth massaged her temples. “That is… unprecedented.” She took her first sip of coffee. So her father’s analysis had been right – she had been right – the Authority was… mellowing? After all these years? 

“They call the death toll ‘low’.” Darcy gave a dry laugh. “’Only’ three hundred dead.”

“Oh well. Who counts, at this point.”

Elizabeth migraine was gone – but with a working mind, reality was crashing down on her – the phones were still off – oh God. What if Lydia or Mary had been outside when the massacre began? What if someone was hurt – and Jane had rushed in the street to help? No, mom would never have let her – Mrs. Bennet could be fierce when it came to protecting her daughters – but – what if the Reds had entered the building with grenades? What if – 

“I am sorry about earlier,” Darcy whispered. 

Elizabeth raised her eyes. He was still on the chair, hardly visible in the dark. “I – what do you mean, sir?” 

“The creature. The… phenomenon. You asked where – we would end, and I said, ‘anywhere would be better than here.” Darcy paused. “That was… You told me – on that day…”

Silence. He finally added. “I do not want to drown every thought you have in a sea of misery.”

Elizabeth looked at him wordlessly for a while. Then it all came back to her. The elevator. His… proposition. “I love you.” “70 a month.” And she…

_(“Why do you think I even like you?”)_

 _(“I need hope – I need hope in my life…”) (“After every conversation we have, I just want to hang myself. »)_

_(« Is that what you really want from me? To drown every... every optimistic thought I ever had in a sea of misery?" »)_

“It is not that I am always negative,” Darcy struggled to explain, right now, in the present. “Well, I certainly was – at that moment, but…”

"Please," Elizabeth breathed, in the darkness. "I beg you – forget anything I said that night. I was such a fool. Please – please forgive me…"

"No – on the opposite – I…"

Their phones suddenly came alive – they both jumped – Elizabeth spent the next half an hour frenetically checking if anybody she knew was hurt – and miraculously none were – people were missing, of course, but nobody too close – she put down her phone with a sigh of relief. Darcy had checked on Reynolds, and on all Pemberley’s employees – if he had cause for worry he didn’t share.

“I have to go,” she explained, “my family is waiting.” 

Darcy just nodded.

“I will walk you home.”

**

Bodies everywhere.

**

The number of dead had been grossly underestimated.

Corpses, on the metal steps, on the mall’s first floor, on the sidewalks, scattered on the piazza – in front of locked doors, where people must have begged for sanctuary – in buildings’ halls – blood splattered on the concrete, on broken windows torn down by machine-gun fire. Darcy and Elizabeth walked in silence, stepping wordlessly over maimed bodies – cause what was there to say? 

The streets were eerie silent – if the fire dancers had come, they were gone now – sometimes Darcy took Elizabeth’s arm, or her hand, to help her – if the dead blocked the way – and that was _progress_ , Elizabeth thought – while they passed the body of a man who had fallen over the children he had tried to protect – that was – _better_ – that was the best possible outcome of the events of the previous night. _That_ was The Authority mellowing out. Tears were falling on Elizabeth’s face – when they reached her building it really came crashing down – how close it had been. She had been waiting all night for the strike, but she hadn’t quite believed it – now – climbing up the stairs – it was all becoming real – the visceral fact that a total annihilation of all she knew had been probable, inevitable almost – that it didn’t happen was a miracle – as soon as she and Darcy stepped out of the stairwell Jane opened the door, Elizabeth ran into her arms and began to sob – and suddenly they were all there, Lydia and Kitty, laughing, crying and hugging Elizabeth at the same time – Mary laughing with relief – Elizabeth’s mother, livid, whispering a prayer – “Thank you for bringing our daughter back to us, sir,” Elizabeth’s father said to Darcy – he was so pale.

Darcy just bowed.

“Of course.”

Elizabeth couldn’t let Jane go – Lydia and Kitty protested laughingly, saying they wanted their turn – Elizabeth embraced them both, laughing too – when she turned around she saw Darcy standing in the doorway, watching it all with a strange expression on his face – “Oh please, sir, do come in, we’ll – I’ll make tea,” Mrs. Bennet said, remembering her manners (politeness is the cornerstone of civilized society).

“No – I mean, thank you, madam,” Darcy answered. “You are very kind. But I have to return to Pemberley.”

He fled.

**

Days passed.

**

Things got back to normal.

**

The bodies were claimed by the families or unceremoniously dumped in mass graves. The survivors went back to school – to work – to their daily lives – it was like the world wanted to forget – it was as if The Authority wanted everybody to forget – people talked, of course, but discreetly – honoring their dead behind closed doors.

**

The stores reopened – new people arriving, sent from other, less favorited Zones to populate vacant apartments – 

**

Elizabeth went back to work.

** 

And then came her last day at Pemberley. 

Her internship was over – and when she left for good Darcy was not even present; he was at Ms. Debourgh’s – or seeing about some vendors’ emergency – or maybe in a meeting of the local business owners; something had to be done about the bloodstains on the concrete, after all – anyway Reynolds was handling things. Since that fateful night, Pemberley seemed in a constant state of emergency. Four employees dead, three missing – Bingley was still away (but alive and well). “I am so sorry, Elizabeth,” Reynolds explained hurriedly, “normally, we would have done something for your last day, but… It’s a madhouse over here…” 

Elizabeth hugged Reynolds when she left – Darcy’s office was still empty. She – dallied a little, hovering near the cash registers, making chit chat with Elinor – hoping for – what? For Darcy’s return? A formal good-bye? A look? “Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided herself, still she found another pretext to stay – a few minutes more – and then another pretext – but Darcy was not back – she had to leave. 

**

Rumors were flying.

Big changes, in the Parliament. Political factions shifting. Readjusting. Votes – new regulations coming, people whispered – people who had family working in Zone Security, or for the Reds tried to learn more but –

Changes. Incoming.

**

(The Earl of Matlock had disappeared, they said – he was considered a liberal, or as much a liberal a congressman could be, in those days – and one morning – he was just gone –)

**

“What are you going to do?” Georgiana asked Darcy, again, in the reserve.

He didn't answer.

“She’s not gone forever. She’s right there, across the street.”

“I know.”

“And it’s summer, right?” Georgiana asked her brother, looking up at her ever-grey sky.

“It is.”

**

It was summer, and he was in love. 

**

Sure, it was summer above cracked sidewalks and crumbling buildings – above forgotten dumpsters – but still, summer it was – the July sun was burning, and Darcy was too – because she was just there – Elizabeth – across the “piazza”, working at Philips’ – the sun burning the concrete between them – burning through the windows of her miserable shop where she was serving miserable sandwiches – amusing how Darcy thought himself in love before, when he had declared himself in the underground wagon (“I love you”) (“70 a month”) – yes, amusing indeed – because it was nothing, no, nothing, in comparison of – of _now_. When he had spoken to Elizabeth at the time, he had not – he had not seen her smiles, every day, in Pemberley. He had not heard her laugh – not like that – they had not talked for hours in his office, or in the breakroom, with Reynolds and Bingley, sipping cheap drinks and debating everything from faraway stars to the quality of coffee – she had not spent the night on his couch, in his office – the depression Darcy had sunk into after her rejection, those dark days where he heard her scathing words over and over, like a song stuck in his mind – those days where he had questioned everything – except Georgiana – they had been easier to bear...

No, of course they hadn’t been. He had never been so low. But _now_ was another, different way of suffering – because he had hope. Not a lot of it. Just a tiny speck, a voice whispering that maybe – Elizabeth didn’t seem to despise him anymore – so – maybe… When did the “maybe” start Darcy had no clue – the “maybe I’ll get another chance” – maybe it started when they were both watching the phenomenon – maybe when they had begun to really converse at Cocktail Time, maybe – if Darcy was sincere – half an hour after Mr. Gardiner and Elizabeth had set foot in Pemberley.

But _now_ …

Now he was powerless. Stuck in his labyrinth of cans and detergents. He had no reason to go visit Elizabeth, no reason to go talk to her – and no time – so much work – what would she say, if he just showed up at Philips’ to buy coffee? Would she look surprised? Politely hide her distaste? Or – worse – maybe she would look puzzled, like she had no idea what he was doing there – Darcy’s head hurt – of course Pemberley was packed – and half of the registers had stopped working again. No technician would show up for weeks, with the strike over everyone was working overtime to repair the damage – good - electrical work, programming, al least it got Darcy focused (on something else) – then it was 3 pm – time for his official break – he _could_ – in theory – he could walk across the square and go into her shop and buy coffee – 

He resisted for a day. Then another. 

Then he couldn’t resist anymore.

**

It was 3 pm, on the third day, when he went to Philips’. 

**

The sun was so hot. July, global warming, the war, ecological disasters. The ground was scorching – the shop was empty of clients, Elizabeth was alone behind the counter, in her white dress – she started when she saw him.

“Hello, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said. Deeply embarrassed. 

A silence. “May, hum, may I have a coffee?”

Elizabeth was silent too – just a moment too long – staring at him – then she stumbled over her words. “Yes. Of course. Of course, sir. Real or synthetic? Any flavor?”

“Real. No flavor.”

“Milk? Sugar?” 

“Yes, real – please.”

He waited for her to make a joke, about Pemberley giving him habits of luxury maybe, but she didn’t, she busied herself around the coffee machine, she was blushing, he thought – when she gave him the cup – she met his eyes for a fraction of second – Darcy said “thank you,” he paid, he hovered there for a few moments, desperately looking for something to say – Elizabeth was staring at him – he just had to say something – anything – his mind was blank – he whispered good-bye, and left.

**

Darcy tried not to think about it in the afternoon when he went back to work. 

He tried not to think about it at night when he worked in the reserve and had dinner and lied to Georgiana when she asked if there was any news on the Elizabeth’s front. (And then he caved and told his sister everything, and she spent hours analyzing each detail of the interaction, like, “But how exactly did she say ‘Milk?’ What was her tone like? Was it, like, ‘Milk?’, or, more, like, you know, _’Milk?_ ”).

Darcy tried not to think about it the next morning, when he briefed another new employee, repaired some faulty wiring, asked Fanny to bribe her brother (an electrician) to put Pemberley on top of his clients’ huge waiting list – he tried not to think about it during his lunch break. He listened thoroughly to Reynolds listing a billion issues to be resolved urgently, and then it was three, Darcy just had coffee so he really did not need another, he told Elinor he would be back (she was so busy she didn’t even hear him,) he sneaked out of Pemberley and crossed the square and entered Elizabeth’s shop.

Not _her_ shop. The Philips’ shop. But you know. 

“Hello, Miss Bennet.”

She started again, but met his eyes directly this time, and forced a shy smile. 

“H-hello, sir.”

Darcy didn’t add anything, so she asked, “Coffee today? Real – real milk, real sugar?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth busied herself with the coffee machine. Again, Darcy struggled to find a topic – without success – then she turned to him with his cup and such a smile – so sweet, though still shy – Darcy met her eyes, and – 

… couldn’t find anything to say.

“How – how are things in Pemberley?” Elizabeth asked, after a while. Her voice was strange, as she, too, struggled to speak.

“Busy,” was his answer.

Silence. Darcy could have killed himself, right here, right now. What a perfect way to destroy all conversation – in fact Elizabeth seemed a little taken aback, then she blushed violently and said, “Of course. Please forgive me. I shouldn’t keep you then.”

_Idiot._

He hesitated. Dallied a little. Hoping that she would give him another chance – but her color was still high, she was busy rearranging pastries – her eyes lowered – of course, his answer could only be interpreted as a way to shut down any further interaction – he left.

**

He didn’t tell Georgiana. He didn’t want to hear “Idiot” again, even if it would have been well deserved.

**

“Real milk, real sugar, sir?” Elizabeth asked, during his third visit.

Her heart was beating so fast – she couldn’t understand him at all. Coffee was certainly better at Pemberley, and cheaper – free, actually – Darcy had an espresso machine in his office, for Christ’s sake. Elizabeth’s cheeks were very red – but if he came to be grave and silent, why did he come at all? 

Again they were alone in the shop – she handed him his cup – she did not try for conversation, she dared not risk a new question and be rebuffed, Darcy thanked her (and did not leave,) he took a sip of coffee (still there, still not leaving,) a long and awkward silence ensued (still standing there,) “So when do you get your diploma, Miss Bennett?” he finally asked, his voice a little strained, as if he had made a tremendous effort. “Won’t this job get in the way of your studies?”

Conversation. _Thank GOD._ Elizabeth smiled.

“It will be tricky, sir, but I believe I can manage both. I have to work, though. My family needs the money, I fear.”

“Of course.”

“Jane is helping me review lessons in the evenings. We go on the roof, drink iced tea – she improvises tests – it’s a lot of fun, really. I mean, _sir_ ,” Elizabeth added hastily.

Darcy desperately looked for a casual way he could ask her not to call him “sir” again – and couldn’t find any. Then Elizabeth asked polite questions about Reynolds, Elinor and Fanny – Darcy’s answers were stilted, but he was clearly trying – after a while the discussion just withered and died – so he left.

**

Then Darcy had to go on a trip.

**

When he came back two months had passed. Elizabeth could have faded from his mind then; Darcy was half expecting it, half dreading it – do you really wish love away, when you’re in the thick of it? Such a bittersweet suffering – poets had said it much better than Darcy ever could; all he knew was that after a long day of traveling and negotiating – after hours of dreary business and cold cynicism, he would check in a crummy hotel or boarding house somewhere, and _she_ would be there – as soon as he closed his eyes – it would be the day after the massacre and she would walk on the sidewalk in her white dress, stained by blood and mud (she didn’t wear that dress that morning, but tell that to his brain,) then she would turn to him, and he would stop and look at her – such a strange daydream, where nothing happened, but he could almost taste it, the “feel” of their Zone, of their streets, the blood and its faint smell of iron. 

**

The day he came back to Pemberley, he was so very busy, of course. People were still in mourning – most of the cashiers wearing the black armband – Darcy went straight to his office - it would have been weird to go buy coffee at Philips' on the first day of his return, right? At 3, he hesitated though – he had almost resolved to go when Reynolds showed up at his office door, with his black armband – (for his uncle, and a cousin.) 

“Can I talk to you, sir?” he asked.

His voice was strangely formal and Darcy waved him in. Reynolds seemed embarrassed. “It's about the employee fund… sir.”

“Yes?”

“The Bennets…” Darcy froze. “Elizabeth Bennet, I know she wasn’t really an employee here, but I hope we may bind the rules a bit. The Bennets have fallen on hard times, sir. You know – the new laws… The government canceled thousands of pensions, sir, including the one Mr. Bennet’s received. He still had a sort of monthly stipend, from when he was a professor, it paid for their apartment and most of the food bills… But now…”

Darcy was very still. “But now?” 

“They are going to lose the place – and to be honest I don’t think they even have enough to eat. The girls are working to the point of exhaustion – from what I hear, Elizabeth had to cancel everything – she cannot go to class, and she had to turn down, you know, that history scholarship… I would give them money, I would - but considering my history with Jane – so maybe if I go through the fund…”

Darcy just nodded. His voice was very neutral. “Yes. Of course. Let’s see what we can do.”

**

“I don’t care!” Lydia yelled. “I’m not going to stay here and work myself to death and still go hungry! I know people – I know a man who will help me – give me money – you are all losers who don’t want to try anything ever…”

“Lydia!” cried her mother. “Come back!”

**

Darcy couldn’t leave before 9 pm - but it was Philips' closing time, she would be alone – as soon as he was able to escape he crossed the concrete barren lands separating them - the light was still on in her glass coffin, she must be finishing the clean-up – then he saw her standing near the counter – in her white dress (the one from the party, the one from The Beast, the one from his dreams) – she seemed to be looking for her keys, he knocked lightly, and entered.

Elizabeth turned to look at him.

She was so pale. So thin.

He should have uttered a polite greeting – but he couldn’t – seeing her in that state – his heart was in his throat, she was the one that broke the silence, “Good evening, sir,” she whispered – forcing a smile – then she staggered slightly. 

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She blushed, he could see it – the shame in her eyes – she staggered again, “I am sorry, I – hum – I didn’t have time to eat today. You know – things get so busy…”

“Get something,” Darcy said, walking to the pastry display, “I will…”

“I cannot,” Elizabeth added before Darcy could explain he would pay, anything, the whole shop, “Employees cannot…” She gave a wan smile. “There are cameras - we are forbidden to touch the food – to eat anything, I mean.”

“But I am a client,” he countered, desperate to – he didn’t know exactly – take her in his arms and bring her back to health through sheer force of will – he had to find a way not to humiliate her more – “I want two of those cakes, here – right now. And two coffees. You will join me, I hope.”

Elizabeth nodded – without even a polite protest – it seems she was ready to break, _forget the cakes_ , Darcy thought – well no, do not forget the cakes, she needed something now – but he had to find a way to bring her back to Pemberley’s cafeteria with him, then he would send food to her family – he would lie, make up something – Elizabeth was typing a code on the register, her hands were trembling, then her eyes closed, she began to slide down, as in slow motion.

**

Night.

**

“But she’s so white – she doesn’t look well, I swear she doesn’t…”

“She just needs to eat – try again…”

Someone – a woman – was making her swallow something – hot chocolate – the good sort – but it was not the first time, they – the woman – had forced something else down her throat a few minutes before, Elizabeth knew the taste, it was one of those calorie drinks they gave you in hospitals – 

“I think she’s regaining consciousness.”

“I cannot be here when she wakes up.” (Darcy’s voice.) “It would scare her – all alone in the reserve with me – she would think I kidnapped her…“

Elizabeth opened her eyes.

It was dark. A dull light filtered through a faraway air vent. Elizabeth was lying on a battered sofa, Darcy was standing near, petrified under her gaze. And on the couch with her – holding her – a very young woman, not much older than seventeen really, with soft chestnut hair and skin that had not seen the sun for too long and – and –

… a scarlet X on her neck.

The young woman retreated hastily to the other side of the sofa.

“Hello, Eliz – Miss Bennet,” Darcy whispered. “I hope you are feeling better.”

Silence. 

Elizabeth was so surprised – she could not answer.

“This,” said Darcy slowly, “is my sister, Georgiana.”

**

“Well, Darcy, you look like shit,” Bingley declared affectionately the next morning in the breakroom – he had just arrived from the train station, and looked like a man who had a rather pleasant time with family in Zone 40 instead of staying in their lovely neighborhood, with, you know, its daily ratio of street wars, screaming crowds and mass burials.

“I’m fine. I’m just…” 

It was too complicated to explain. Reynolds saved him. 

“Is she still in the reserve? I mean – Elizabeth,” Reynolds added, after a quick glance at Bingley.

“Yes,” Darcy explained. “Still sleeping.”

Bingley looked at them, frowning. “What – Elizabeth Bennet – what happened?” 

Reynolds explained – slowly – the Bennet situation – it was a touchy subject, considering – but it had to be done. “They are starving,” Reynolds concluded, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Silence. 

Then Bingley said:

“Fuck you.”

“Hum, ok,” was Reynolds’ puzzled answer, but Bingley turned to Darcy.

“No, not you, Reynolds, him. Fuck YOU, Darcy,” Bingley repeated, anger rising fast, “fuck you, if you hadn’t told me to break up with Jane… If I… And actually, you know what?”, he added, grabbing his vest, “FUCK YOU ALL, and fuck Caroline, and fuck your fucking wise advice and…”

Bingley threw a last look at his two bewildered friends before storming away – fifteen minutes later he was climbing up the stairs of the rundown building, he knocked at the Bennet’s door and walked past a wan and stunned Mrs. Bennet to find an equally bewildered Jane and he knelt down in front of everybody and asked her to marry him.


	6. Through the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter!
> 
> This is the longest Pride and Prejudice story I ever wrote. THANK YOU, everybody, for the support and the comments, some of them moved me to tears. I received so many beautiful comments on my P&P stories throughout the years (thank you thank you thank you) but this is the most lovely feedback I ever got. 
> 
> **Editing (November 9): Not the last chapter after all. After some thought and all your nice comments, I posted an epilogue! Don't forget to click "next chapter" at the end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not chronologically linear, so make sure the events of last chapter are fresh in your mind.

_"If this is a ploy to get a marriage proposal," he spat, "you are sadly deluded. I…"_

_"I would never marry you, even if you begged," Elizabeth blurted. "You are obnoxious. You treat people like dirt. You treat me like dirt. And – I am sorry you lost your sister – but – God – after every conversation we have, I just want to hang myself. Is that what you really want from me? To drown every... every optimistic thought I ever had in a sea of misery?"_

_"No," he breathed. The fog was coming back. His head hurt. "No. On the opposite. I love – I love that you are – so joyful."_

_"So that's what you'd hire me for – for 70 a week – I mean, you'd hire me to open my legs, as Ms. Debourgh would elegantly say – but my job would be to… vainly try to cheer you up? With my 'joy'? And of course I would never succeed – because you're just – you're horrible – and – I need hope – I need hope in my life – and you would just gleefully watch as your despair would swallow me alive?"_

_"No. I… I just…" God, he couldn't see clearly. "No. Forget it, ok? Forget I ever said – just – fucking forget it."_

**

When they found themselves alone at last, in the tired, creaking spaceship, direction Pemberley, silence fell. Their cabin was so small – there was hardly room for a very narrow bed, and a lavatory – it looked like a prison cell, except it was the opposite – the key to freedom.

The marriage had taken place two days ago and they hadn’t even touched each other after. There were so many things to organize – to rush. So much to leave behind, two whole existences to uproot in less than 48 hours.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed. She was so nervous, he could tell. Stuck with him in this tiny space. She knew what was supposed to happen, at 19, she had to know – but she was a virgin – and their society – the society they were leaving – it put so much pressure, so much weight, so much shame, on this very act.

He held out his hand, hesitated. Caressed her cheek – he hardly brushed the skin; he was feeling lightheaded, like the moment was not real. Like they were in the “elevator” still – in the underground wagon, where he had declared his love, when she had run away from him, banged on the door, screaming “let me out!”

“I never believed,” he whispered, “that we would end up here – together, like this.” Elizabeth blushed, and he continued, “I had lost hope, to be honest.”

“I had too,” she whispered back. “Thank you, for…” 

“For what?” (His voice was raw. So much tension, so much unexpressed tenderness.)

She gave a short laugh. “Not giving up.”

**

It was dark in the supermarket’s reserve. A dull light filtered through a faraway air vent. Elizabeth was lying on a battered sofa, Darcy was standing near. And on the couch, a very young woman, not much older than seventeen, with –

… a scarlet X on her neck.

“Hello, Eliz – Miss Bennet,” Darcy whispered. “This is my sister, Georgiana.”

**

Silence fell, while the two young women stared at each other; Georgiana was so scared, Elizabeth so stunned – and for a fraction of second Darcy feared he had made a terrible mistake – that he had completely misjudged Elizabeth – condemned his sister – that Elizabeth was going to jump on her feet, run out of Pemberley and call the Reds…

It didn’t happen. Elizabeth took a moment to get over her surprise, then she extended her hand and said, very formally:

“Good evening, Georgiana – Miss Darcy. I am delighted to meet you.” 

She glanced at the empty calorie drink on the table. “And thank you for taking care of me. I, hum, it seemed I had a moment of weakness… Thank you for rescuing me,” Elizabeth repeated, looking at both siblings – Darcy colored, then he bowed his head slightly, in his stiff, formal way. 

“Of course.”

“It is awful, right? I mean, that thing,” Georgiana said, nodding toward the calorie drink. 

“Oh God,” said Elizabeth, glad of any opportunity to break the tension. “The taste is atrocious. Thank you for drowning it with hot chocolate – such a genius move.”

Georgiana broke into a wide smile. “Right? It was my idea – Fitzwilliam was fretting too much over you to be useful – but I remembered when he fed me those drinks after I… when he got me back from… when I needed them – and it was, like the most abominable thing in the world – so he gave me chocolate to counter the flavor…”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth whispered again, she looked right at Darcy this time – who nodded and walked away to the other side of the reserve, as far from the two women as he could.

Silence fell for the second time. Elizabeth’s eyes followed him before she turned back to Georgiana – and her red X – there was awkwardness there too, but of a different nature – what was Elizabeth supposed to say? _Don’t worry, I will never tell – not a soul – that you are hiding here – I won’t rat you out, cause the Reds would come and shoot both you and your brother on the spot_ – not something you were supposed to utter aloud in polite society, was it? So many etiquette books for young women – about morality and manners – and not one to cover this precise situation. 

Elizabeth took Georgiana’s hand. “Alas, I have to leave. But I want to tell you – how grateful I will always be for…”

“Oh no!” Georgiana cried. “We’re past curfew. You have to sleep here – and besides – I have so little company… Please – can you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course,” Elizabeth breathed – instinctive politeness – then she felt lost for a second – before deciding the situation was so strange, better just embrace the weirdness. “Just let me text my family, so they don’t…”

“Oh Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana interrupted, so excited, “Come back – we’ll have tea! With real leaves! And cake – Elizabeth, what do you prefer?” and this is how Elizabeth Bennet found herself having a very late tea with scones (real ones!) in the company of Miss Georgiana Darcy, at 11 pm, in a supermarket reserve, between shelves of laundry soap and walls of undetermined crates – Darcy had disappeared in his office, pretexting work, a lot of work, tons of it, to be done _right now_.

“You may have noticed, Miss Bennett, Georgiana said, stirring her (excellent) tea after Darcy’s precipitate departure, “that my brother is not the best at interpersonal relationships.”

Elizabeth laughed again – the impression of absurdity was slowly vanishing, the calorie drink had done her a world of good too – and the tea was delicious. “It is strange listening to you, Miss Darcy,” she commented with a smile, “sometimes you sound so young, and then you utter something very mature – please forgive my indiscretion, but – how old are you?”

“I turned seventeen two weeks ago.”

“Obviously,” Elizabeth began prudently, “I could ask…” She tried not to look at the red mark and kept smiling reassuringly at the girl, “… how you came to be hidden in here – it would be bad form to question you, but… if you want to talk – it must get very lonely, I suppose.”

“Not really,” Georgiana said, before being confused for a second, transforming again in the strange, eerie creature she had seemed to be when Elizabeth woke up – a lost elf – “I mean, yes, I am alone, but…” Georgiana hesitated before concluding: “But I am safe.” 

When she looked at Elizabeth she was normal again, a teenager in unusual circumstances – she could have been Kitty, or a more subdued Lydia. “I don’t remember much, to be honest. I know I was taken, I know it was the Sapphire Network, I remember – things – painful things…” 

Elizabeth bit her lip.

“The Reds came. I fled. Then I was here, and Fitzwilliam was protecting me. Hiding me. Cherishing me, despite…” 

Silence fell. Elizabeth felt very close to tears, then horribly guilty – to think that she had been feeling sorry for herself, when her dad had lost his pension – when Darcy had disappeared for two months, when she had to forego everything – her studies, her future – but some people had endured much worse – this sweet girl had endured so much worse, and still she – they – had helped her – tears fell, after all, Elizabeth wiped them discreetly, “So he is a good brother, then?” she asked with a smile.

“The best,” Georgiana whispered – then her smile brutally vanished, “I am lying – I am,” she stuttered. Elizabeth held her hand tighter, but Georgiana just added quickly, “I told Fitzwilliam I didn’t remember, but I do – I remember everything – I just want to bury it, you know? So I pretend I forgot, I – drown the memories in black paint – do you think it’s crazy?”

“No, no,” Elizabeth cried, still clutching the young girl’s hand – if it all came to naught, she thought, this situation between she and Darcy – if nothing ever happened, at least Elizabeth would have been here, right now, to help Georgiana, in this conversation, “If black paint works for you, Miss Darcy, then your method is the right one – there is no rule, you know, no official way to get over trauma – we all do what we can. And denial,” she laughed, “is an old, tried method that has done humans a world of good over the centuries...” She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel all humanity is in denial right now. I mean, how could we survive if we weren’t?”

“Right,” Georgiana said, laughing despite her tears, and then the two young women talked of other things – any other topic – cake, dancing, books and daydreams, or the very selective ballet school Georgiana had applied to, and been accepted in before it all happened. Elizabeth described her sisters, her parents, Georgiana was so hungry for every detail, every anecdote, every drop of life she could drink. And then – well – Darcy’s sister was not the most skilled comedian, and her brother was still not coming back, so Georgiana just suddenly burst out: 

“Fitzwilliam is the best man in the world – he is kind and thoughtful, and loyal, and loving… You know, right?” The young girl then become very red and tried to hide her mortification by drinking tea – but her cup was empty – she pretended anyway – Elizabeth was not less embarrassed.

“I – I know,” she whispered. “I see how he runs Pemberley. I – I am convinced, Georgiana.”

Silence.

“He did not tell me to say that,” Georgiana blurted out again, before blushing even more. “Not that he tells me anything. I mean, he never tells me anything. I don’t know anything!” she cried, her hands slightly trembling, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh, but it was not real laughter, it was a mix of desperate hope, sadness, and affection for the strange, damaged girl in front of her.

She leaned toward Georgiana. “Smooth, my sister Lydia would say."

Georgiana tried to laugh. 

“I am so tired,” Elizabeth murmured then, it seemed all the events of the past months suddenly weighed on her – uncertainty and the ugly mass of the world – it was all there, crushing her. She gave an exhausted smile, Georgiana clumsily, shyly hugged her, and the two girls fell slowly asleep, on the couch, in each other’s arms.

**

“Good morning, Georgiana,” Reynolds said, at dawn. 

He was carrying a tray with coffee and some buttered bread. “I know it’s still early, but…”

“Time to crawl back in my hole,” the young girl muttered, grabbing breakfast. “Thank you, John. Fitzwilliam slept in his office?”

“Yep.” 

Elizabeth was slowly waking up. Georgiana disappeared in a very small room that Reynolds locked up carefully, then he came back to the sofa; Elizabeth had sat up, still feeling dumbfounded. Reynolds handed her a coffee, sat down beside her before touching her cup with his, with a wry smile, as if making a toast.

“I feel like Alice in wonderland,” Elizabeth whispered. “Or – no – what was the other book called? ‘Through the looking glass?’”

“Yep,” Reynolds said again, perfectly calm. He took a sip. “I know the feeling.”

“Or, we passed through the looking glass when the aliens came,” Elizabeth mused. “And since then, we are all walking in Wonderland.”

Reynolds just shrugged.

“Best explanation I’ve ever heard.”

**

Darcy heard about Lydia’s disappearance and Bingley’s proposal to Jane at roughly the same time. 

He went a little crazy. 

Elizabeth had gone home hours ago. There was nothing Darcy could do – not his business, not his family, not his fiancée – Lydia was Bingley’s responsibility now, and, obviously, Mr. Bennet’s, who had already set up a reward – Darcy could not even text Elizabeth, he had no official reason too – and then all it took was Harriet’s innocent remark near those fucking still malfunctioning cash registers to send _Darcy_ through the looking glass – he had just taken down Rosie King’s missing poster – nobody had ever come to claim the reward, and Bingley wanted to replace it with Lydia’s picture – Harriett was watching – she commented:

“Wickham must be so sad.”

At her side, Elinor winced. “No gossip, please, Harriett. Get back to work.”

Darcy watched both women for a while before asking – “No, Harriett – wait. What do you mean?”

“Well, Wickham was so in love with Rosie!” Harriett exclaimed, clearly thinking a flirt between a citizen like George Wickham and a poor girl like Rosie King was a romantic story for the ages. “And then poor Rosie just vanished, and now, Lydia did too – and Wickham and Lydia, I saw them together all the time, yesterday even…”

“Come on, Harriett,” Elinor cut disapprovingly. “You know better. Don’t let your tongue wag. Women’s reputations are as brittle as they are…”

The rest of Elinor’s scolding was lost to Darcy, because he nodded politely to the two women, then walked into the reserve and went directly to Georgiana’s door – yes, at 11 in the morning, the young girl started in panic, but Darcy didn’t even let her time for a question – he sat beside her on the narrow bed, and asked: 

“Dearest Georgiana – I know you hate to think of these things – but – a young girl’s life hangs up in the balance – was – tell me the truth, dearest, your abduction – was Wickham implicated?”

**

Darcy was walking through his childhood nightmare.

He was so young, a boy, when he lived with his parents in the southeast section of Zone 5 – Georgiana was so small then – and he had that strange childhood fancy that the town was divided into two parts. The first, starting at his building entrance door, was the good one – the streets where he played with other kids, where his parents worked, where he went to school – where reality was tangible. And then there was – the other side. Northwest – behind his apartment block – there laid terrors, there started dreamland – the world thick and grey, sticky and unreliable, it was not even such a bad neighborhood, why a 9 years old boy would paint it with the brush of nightmares, Darcy never understood – maybe he had a bad experience there when he was a toddler, maybe he had heard something – a scary anecdote – which took mythical proportions in his impressionable childish mind, anyway – one day, the nightmares became real.

Darcy was 11. He was walking with his parents and his sister in the wrong part of town when alarms began to blare. They ran to the nearest shelter – Georgiana in their fathers’ arms – it was not The Beast, just a regular raid, Darcy remembered the first bomb falling, carving a wound in the streets, bending a streetlight, near a half-dead oak tree – windows exploding – people dying – they made it to the shelter – Georgiana babbling and laughing, thinking it was a game, fireworks – an hour later the shelter collapsed on them, killing his father on the spot. His mother took three days to die, the two kids trapped underground with her; Darcy, holding Georgiana, the whole while.

(Ms. Debourgh, in the crowded hospital, where he and Georgiana had been transported after they were at long last dug out of there. People lying on the floor, dead or dying. Doctors and nurses exhausted, overworked, lacking everything – medicine, basic supplies – Ms. Debourgh yelling at them to take care of her nephew and niece – which Georgiana and Fitzwilliam were not, they were just her best friends’ kids, but Ms. Debourgh thought the lie would yield better results – it didn’t, but Ms.Debourgh mere presence – being there _for_ them, yelling _for_ them – when everybody else in their life had been reduced to dust – it made all the difference.)

He had nightmares for years. 

(In the spaceship, during the interminable trip, Darcy would wake up in Elizabeth’s arms, drenched in sweat, while she held him tightly, caressed his shoulder, kissing him his brow, his eyelids, whispering sweet nothings.) 

And now, he was back.

The streets had not changed that much – the windows had been repaired, a few buildings were brand new, but – those were the same sidewalks, the same half-dead oak tree – the streetlight was still bent – the shelter didn’t exist anymore, a small shop rose in its place – did the owner use the underground space as a basement, Darcy wondered, was it now a reserve, the place where his mother agonized? He didn’t stop to ask – he just walked past – trying to quell the old familiar sensation, that that part of town was not quite real, that he was passing through the antechamber of hell.

The most recent HQ of the Sapphire Network was hidden in an industrial zone. The building was huge – cars coming and going, some stopping on the old factory’s parking lot, others entering directly through one of the many garages, trucks, or cars, with curtains obstructing the side windows. Darcy remembered – Georgiana gaunt body – the acid – the alien cuts – he knew better than to blame any Gal3 inhabitants, human sexuality held no meaning for them, no, it was the opposite – aliens abducted, innocent tourists, made to perform crazy acts on camera in the company of young, captive human females, for the pleasure of human watchers – rich humans – snuff movies and high end, perverted, unwilling prostitution, those were the main source of revenue of the Sapphire gang. And those horrors were happening right there, right now – between these walls – the dreamlike feeling came back, the grey, the glue of nightmares, every sense telling Darcy to run, or whispering that it was already too late, he was stuck. 

Lydia Bennet was inside. Darcy had seen her twice – no, more than that, the girl was present at the Philips parties – he remembered her laughing – too much makeup, too much cleavage, the round face of a child. 

Fourteen. Like Georgiana.

He watched. For three days, buying food in a little market, half an hour from the place – he didn’t want to be noticed. Sleeping for a few hours in a cheap boarding house. Waiting for a chance. A way in. An opportunity.

None came.

This was the mafia – well, a mafia – and they knew what they were doing. Changing HQ regularly – every three months, Darcy’s contact at the Foster gang had told him. A man called Young. He had worked with Wickham for years, he even had been employed by one of Darcy’s vendors for a while, delivering goods in Pemberley… right around the time Georgiana had been abducted.

Darcy had tried to hide his revulsion, his rage. Wickham, heavy in debt, Young explained. Getting more and more desperate, delivering girls instead of cash. He had stolen from Young; his former accomplice was only too happy to betray him.

“Anyway,” Young had commented after pocketing Darcy’s money. “The Sapphire Network. What the hell can you do?”

**

“Tell me the truth, dearest, your abduction – was Wickham implicated?”

Georgiana had stared at her brother with wide eyes. 

“No. Of course not.”

“Are you sure? Sweetheart,” Darcy added, “think – it’s about Elizabeth’s sister Lydia…” He explained the situation – if Georgiana had been able to pace her little living space, she would have. “If Wickham was – I would have told you, Fitzwilliam! I would never have let him work in Pemberley, with you, with all the other girls!”

“But…” Darcy buried his head in his hands, thinking of Rosie King – it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Although…” Georgiana began again. 

Darcy raised his head. His sister was very red. “Tell me, Georgie.”

“You’ll be mad at me. You will yell.”

“Did I ever?”

“But you hate him – and he – he kissed me.”

Darcy did hate him, passionately, but so much was at stake. “Where? I mean, where did it happen?”

“We flirted a little,” Georgiana explained, still blushing. (She was also fourteen at the time. Did Wickham like them young, or were the girls worth more, or both?) “He said he wanted to meet me in a discreet place, so, we could… You know…” Georgiana blushed again. “We met in the parking lot – near 5th.”

Darcy was livid. “And?”

“He was very gentlemanly about it. We just, we kissed a little, and then he let me go, and he said – he said…” All color brutally left Georgiana’s face. “He said, ‘others will value it much more,’ and then he walked away, and… it was later in the afternoon, I was coming back through the old tunnel, coming back home, when – there was a car, they grabbed me…”

Silence.

“I never thought… Do you think? Fitzwilliam, do you think that Wickham…”

“Oh, Georgiana,” Darcy whispered.

**

“Anyway,” Young had commented after pocketing Darcy’s money. “The Sapphire Network. What the hell can you do?”

Darcy spied for another day. Reynolds and Elinor were taking care of Pemberley – Georgiana knew where Darcy was going – she was frantic with worry, but he had to tell her the truth – he never could lie to her. 

Anyway. No weakness in the Sapphire organization. No obvious point of entry. 

But Young was wrong. There was something Darcy could do.

**

The Reds attacked before dawn. It was their MO – they also did last time, three years ago, when Georgiana escaped. They liked to strike before sunrise. People sleeping, guards getting tired. The fake safety of the night.

It was a bloodbath. 

Of course it was. Darcy knew what would happen when he made the phone call, “just a concerned citizen, captive Gal 3 aliens going in trucks, armed men, underage prisoner girls.” The man on the phone had not shown much enthusiasm. His voice was particularly robotic – they said some Reds turned that way, after years of strife, their mental AIs slowly choking their capacity for emotions – or maybe it was another urban myth. But Darcy knew they would react swiftly. The welfare of aliens was at stake – the Gal 3 cluster was so powerful, the Authority couldn’t risk losing their alliance – and even so, the war between the Sapphire network and the Authority had lasted for decades – oh yes, they would come. 

What Darcy didn’t know though – what he would learn two days after, holed in the reserve with a relieved Georgiana, trying to stream illegal news – was that the Sapphire organization had lately taken to trafficking war weapons. 

Thus, the Reds extremely fast reaction.

Thus, the enormity of the bloodbath.

Machine guns Darcy had expected, the Reds had too. They had not expected the military sized grenades or the rocket launchers, tearing through the attacking soldiers like a knife in a butter, a rocket was misdirected and destroyed half of their own wall – exposing the HQ – how crazy were those thugs, Darcy thought, using weapons they couldn’t control – chaos erupted.

People firing everywhere. The wounded writhed and screamed – despite their heavy losses, the Reds charged on – three different kinds, the street ones, clad in red, some with a black streak on their armor – executioners, Darcy knew – but most of them were from a special force, a blue line shining on their torso – their leader was ordering them onward – his battered armor was somehow familiar, but Darcy didn’t stop to look – chaos was what he counted on, his only chance to save Lydia Bennet – he ran blindly through the southern parking lot, through the smoke and the screams, he could die any time – any random bullet – suddenly he was inside. He had a gun hidden under his vest, but no intention to use it – a garage, then a hall, Sapphire men, weapons in hand – running toward the fight – other fleeing it, carrying documents and hard drives – dust falling, the ceiling crumbling – another explosion, someone must have fired a small missile – clever, in an environment which was already collapsing – Darcy opened a door at random, a corridor, some sorts of offices – with state of the art computers – another explosion, another corridor – a series of glass doors, mostly intact, a man in a perfectly tailored suit, weapon in hand – he pointed it at Darcy, “what the fuck are you doing here?”, Darcy just yelled “They’re coming!” in his most panicked tone, then ran down the nearest flight of stairs.

Down the steps, it was dark and weirdly silent. An obscure hall – Darcy floundered in the obscurity before he found a switch; a quivering neon light shone on a series of cells – there was no other name for them. Fortunately for Darcy’s peace of mind, most of them were empty, but there were chains, and strange instruments – cameras, state of the art again, then a medical installation, and what looked like a chainsaw – someone was inside the next cell, except not _someone_ – a creature – Darcy had never seen the like – not on any video, not on any news, official or otherwise, not even in his wildest dreams – he stopped at the door, gaping – _it_ was translucid blue, with three insectoid eyes – don’t project human emotions on them, they always repeated over the news – but still the being was a prisoner, held with gleaming metallic restraints, Darcy hit everything he could – levers, keyboards, doors – to open the cell – but couldn’t – and what if he had? Maybe the thing was dangerous – maybe it was ferocious, carnivorous, lethal – suddenly, the creature began to growl, a low endless sound, its eyes’ facets brusquely turning white – fixated on Darcy – the young man froze and took a step back.

Screams.

Women’s screams. Upstairs.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy breathed, he began to run – then he couldn’t miss it, in the last cell: the heap of corpses. Mostly women – one of them had red hair, like Rosie King – Darcy didn’t stop to check the body’s identity, he ran up a new, well-lit stair, to emerge in a different part of the complex – too late, too late, because the Reds were inside – the ones with the black streak, people still screaming and fighting in other parts of the complex; here the girls were kneeling in a row, some of them with their hands tied behind their back – so young, scantily clad, no older than 20 – ten, fifteen of them – “In the name of the Authority,” a Red said, “on the charges of immorality and sexual debauchery, I find you guilty,” – gunshots resonated, so close, the Red waved a thick metal wand and a scarlet X appeared on the girl’s neck, burning through her skin while she cried, “the sentence will be carried out immediately”, the man concluded, then he raised his weapon and shot her – in the head – like a dog – the others were screaming, the Red turned to next girl, new explosions outside, a loud one made them all jump, Darcy seized the occasion and fired – not on the Reds, on a glass wall, to make noise, chaos, another explosion, so close, the floor began to shake, two Sapphire men appeared and began to shoot at random, Darcy crossed the room, pulling the girls up, pushing them toward the door, “Out! Run! Run! Go!”, before shooting at another glass door (for maximum confusion), no sign of Lydia, everybody was running now, one of the Reds shot at Darcy but got a girl in the back instead, she collapsed – the others were all outside, Darcy followed them, a series of offices, a small red door, the girls emerged in a sort of courtyard – near an exit – when Darcy realized he would be leaving the complex he ran back inside – through another entrance – now the building was crumbling for good, ceilings crashing down, dust everywhere – a naked girl (absolutely naked) was running away sobbing, Darcy hurried in the direction she came from – a large garage, very dark, “fuck you, unhand me, fuck you, get off me,” Lydia was yelling, there were four or five girls, kneeling too, a Red was struggling to hold Lydia in place, now he was lifting his magic wand, pointing at her neck, Lydia kicked him (on his armor, didn’t do much), Darcy shoved him with all his might – didn’t do much either – but at least the Red turned toward him, “Run, Lydia, run!” Darcy screamed – she did – oh my God she did, Darcy had never seen someone run faster in his life, and then – 

A huge explosion.

The world shook. Like an earthquake. Like someone got to the weapons cache and made an extremely foolish decision – but the thought certainly did not cross Darcy’s mind at the moment, what crossed his mind was that he was on the floor, his ears ringing, his nose bleeding, breathing dust, he stood up, fell down again, his sense of equilibrium shot – it took three tries – and then – he realized.

Everybody realized, at the same time. The Reds. The Sapphire survivors. People in the neighborhood, witnessing the disaster.

_Bombs. Explosions. Massive discharges of energy._

Oh yeah. They all saw it coming, at the exact same second.

“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” the Red muttered, his metallic voice resonating strangely – and then it was everybody for themselves, fleeing – not one precious moment spent fighting anymore – each second counted. 

Alarms began to blare.

**

Three long, one short.

The Beast.

**

“Evacuate! Evacuate!” The Red with the battered armor was yelling – the one with a strike of blue – people flowed out of the HQ, but that probably wouldn’t save them, Darcy thought (although he was running as fast as the others), trying to estimate – the blast zone – even if he made it out of the site on time, the acid – the shockwave… The man – the Red, the officer, with the blue streak, he was standing his ground, shouting orders, hurrying people, ordering them to carry the wounded (not the Sapphire guys, _his_ guys, obviously) – staying in place – like the captain of a sinking ship – how crazy was he –

The air began to hiss.

**

Lydia was running for her life. She had heard it all, the explosions, the Tocsin, the shouting – oh, she knew. She had seen it happening often on videos taken through trembling aircams – the blast and the bodies and the grayish acid – she was running in a labyrinth of narrow streets, hoping the buildings would protect her – if the explosion didn’t wipe them out – the neighborhood was deserted, the last inhabitants fleeing as fast as they could – she was out of breath, her lungs burning – if she just could make it to that crossroad – (she made it to the crossroad) – if she just could make it to that bar – (she made it to the bar) – everything eerily quiet – (keep running) – if she just could make it to – 

She heard It screaming – 

**

IMPACT. 

**

Lydia didn’t hear Its Fall; she didn’t hear anything. Suddenly she was wandering in a wasteland – blood on her knees, on her hands, on her face – every part of her body hurt, certainly she had tumbled down, but couldn’t remember it – she didn’t even remember crawling back to her feet – someone was running behind her – shouting – she couldn’t make the words – the noise had been literally deafening – “literally deafening”, it sounded like something her dad would say, “Dad?” she called, and almost couldn’t hear her own voice – no, she hadn’t completely lost her mind, she knew her dad was far, far away, but – she just needed to – hold to somethng familiar - around her the environment began to shift – the sidewalks – the concrete silently opening – (not really silently, just, Lydia couldn’t hear) – the streets gradually torn apart – grey acid pouring into the cracks – Lydia began to run again, she jumped over a broadening gap, then over another – God bless adrenaline – miraculously she was out of the danger zone – her ears had mostly stopped buzzing – and that’s when she heard the call.

“Lydia!”

She turned around. Wickham – Wickham had made it to the safe zone too, but then, he had fallen, his leg twisted at a strange angle…

“Lydia! Help!”

A fracture was widening behind him, acid cracking and fuming; he was so close to the abyss; Lydia walked to him, almost languidly, as hypnotized, Wickham tried to stand up, the ground dissolving behind him in a giant chasm…

“Lydia – my leg is – please help me…”

Mary, practicing her taekwondo moves on the roof terrace. “Shoulders straight, deep breath, raise your right foot,” “Lydia, what the fuck are you doing?” Wickham cried, but Lydia’s kick was perfect – she gave a strangled scream – striking with all her might – the blow landed right in the middle of Wickham’s chest.

**

The Red was sinking.

Darcy’s world was not making sense yet. Puzzle pieces – the smell – a smell of things burning, of charred flesh, the sour, rancid stench of acid – a man was drowning – at sea – there was a ship – with white sails – the sky was very blue, when Darcy swallowed, it tasted like blood.

Time passed. In perfect silence.

(Maybe his eardrums were shot.)

His vision shifted – it was fine, everything was fine – everything was peaceful – the sea – the waves – he could stay there forever. 

No hurry.

(Except, you know, someone was drowning.)

Reason came back by fragments. He knew he was lying down – he began to count what was real – like in a children song – _one_ , the blue sky, very blue, _two_ , Elizabeth in a glass box, serving coffee – the waves reached her door, licking the concrete, maybe she would walk outside – 

No… No. Those were hallucinations. What was real was _two_ , the blood in his mouth. There was no sea, no white sails, no ship. (There would be one later, an old creaking spaceship, but Darcy couldn’t know that.)

 _Three_ , someone was drowning. 

Darcy sat up. The sky was turquoise. The shockwave had sent him against a series of vehicles, stacked onto each other like a piece of XXe century art. Acid was crackling nearby, resting in strange, peaceful ponds. The Sapphire HQ no longer existed, instead lied a crater, surrounded by – moats, like in strongholds of yore, moats set in concentric circles – filled with acid – 

The Red was not drowning. 

He was falling.

Excruciatingly slowly. Sliding down, inch by inch, the slope of one of the deeper moat – the surface of acid glittering beneath him, waiting for him like a shining embrace – why he couldn’t climb back Darcy couldn’t fathom, maybe the man was hurt, maybe his armor had damaged – he was trying though, trying to scramble up – or at least trying to stop his gradual, deadly fall – to no avail – Darcy sprang on his feet – a mistake – white flashing in his brain, his eyes failing him – he wanted to puke – he passed out, maybe – when his vision came back he was lying on the edge of the moat, gripping the Red’s hand – not his hand, his arm – the armor’s sleeve of slippery metal – he tried to pull the man up – but couldn’t, the armor was too heavy – the battered armor, red with a strike of blue, LC-RF-3122, written on the shoulder – it struck Darcy, nebulously, that this was the Red who had let Elizabeth go, all these months ago, when she had been arrested for walking to Netherfield after curfew – he pulled again – silently – with all his might – nothing budged.

**

It was a night of silence and touch. 

Of course, in space, it is always night. 

**

She got her clothes off first. She had to stand naked before him – it was tradition, the wife waiting naked for her husband’s desire – in submission, as a gift. That tradition, Elizabeth had – she had never really thought about it, to be honest, marriage had always seemed so far away, so improbable. Later, of course – years later – on Pemberley, living a life she would never have thought possible, playing with concepts she would never would have thought possible, she and Darcy would laugh about it – Elizabeth’s students deconstructing the inherent misogynistic nature of the ceremony – the hybrids would be the most interested, as always, everything fascinating to them, everything _alien_ – two of Elizabeth and Darcy’s children amongst them – the line between humans and Gal 31 species blurring every year – but the truth was – misogyny or not – that moment, between them, in the spaceship, she would always remember as precious. 

The light on her skin, coming from the emergency neon in the corridor, filtering under the metal door. The other passengers, all 18 756 of them, sleeping – it was the first day of the trip, everyone still on Earth’s time. Darcy staring at her, still clothed, Elizabeth knew she was too thin, too pale, but the way he looked at her, it made her feel like a gift indeed – he touched her first – a maiden should not initiate sensual contact, not even a wife – it was the rule – a rule they would ignore very quickly, two weeks into the trip Elizabeth already knew better – but for now, a man caressing her skin – it felt – well, alien – as if she had stepped into another reality.

He stopped. And asked. 

“Why do you never say you love me?”

**

The stench of acid. 

**

Time passed.

Darcy was still hanging to the man – well, the man was still hanging to him – they were stuck – Darcy could not haul him up, but he could not let go either – Darcy’s desperate pull was the only thing stopping the Red’s fall – they were both perfectly still – a stalemate between life and gravity. 

The acid so calm, so close. Less than an inch from the man’s feet.

The universe was empty. 

Nobody, except death.

Waiting.

**

“Why do you never say you love me?” 

“I – I do – I did,” Elizabeth answered, blushing – bewildered – feeling the cold air on her bare skin, sipping under the door, with the light.

“Once.”

“I…” She blushed again. “Declaring feelings – is not the prerogative of women. We are to be hunted and caught – like does,” she said, grasping at humor, at metaphors, desperately searching for distance. “But I…” 

She paused. 

“You know I…”

Darcy waited. Elizabeth just shook her head and whispered:

“Would you maybe take your clothes off too, sir? I feel as a disadvantage here.”

When she slipped and called him “sir”, Darcy generally teased her, but not so now – the moment was eerie – the glow on her body, it could be moonlight – so he simply obeyed – Elizabeth didn’t move, fascinated, watching him while he stripped – when he stood naked before her, feeling vulnerable in his turn, he tried to joke, gestured at his body, “Sorry, I'm hardly a catch.” Too thin also – much better fed than she was, but still, not an athlete, everybody in Zone 5 was underweight anyway – except, they were not in Zone 5 anymore, were they?

**

Acid.

**

Of course, Darcy _could_ let go. Should, even. The man was a Red, and yes, maybe he had saved Elizabeth that night, but you could argue he hadn’t – he had just chosen not to kill her, a right that should never have been his anyway – Reds were the enemy, Reds were monsters who slaughtered civilians – Darcy’s arm was getting numb – the blue line on the man’s sleeve, not a regular soldier, definitely special force – which just meant whatever crimes the Reds had committed, he had probably done even _worse_ – but none of it mattered.

None of it mattered because the man was alive. The only alive being, with Darcy, in a desolate land, and if Darcy let go, the Red would begin to slide again, and acid would devour him alive, oh so slowly – inch by inch – 

And Death would be all there was.

**

Night.

**

Elizabeth’s put her hand on Darcy’s chest, in a daring move – he shivered – she had been too wanton – she snapped back her hand, stared at the floor.

“You know,” she whispered. “You know I would never have married you – touched you – I would not touch you now – without affection… Without…” 

Love, such a dangerous word. A word leading to shame and fall, a word not fit for a maiden to utter, (although she did, yes, she did, when they were in that shelter together.)

“I know.” Darcy’s hand brushing her shoulder, the crook of her neck – not daring to do more, not yet. “Romantics. They are the worst.”

Elizabeth gave a strangled laugh. “Horrible, difficult people, aren’t they?”

“It did not make for an easy hunt.”

Elizabeth laughed again – still crimson – still staring downwards – then Darcy’s hand landed on her naked breast – she took a panicked breath, reverted to distance again, or at least tried, blurting – “You have to realize, Mr. Darcy, that I do not know what I am doing at all – I have no – no experience in – I have no clue how I am supposed to act tonight,” she whispered, before her voice broke – Darcy gave a short, bitter laugh.

“You overestimate me. I may have more theoretical experience that you do – but nothing… concrete.”

Now Elizabeth looked at him. “Oh. But I thought…”

“You thought I abused my position as tyrant of Pemberley and got a taste of all the girls?” 

“No… Or maybe – maybe at first. Not… Not when I came to know you better.”

He kissed her, just below the neck, shy and swift.

“I had a girlfriend when I was fifteen. We made out a lot, but never… The danger was too great for her. And then, Georgiana disappeared.”

Elizabeth nodded silently, and for a few moments, their thoughts were home – their erstwhile home – that, chances were, they would never see again – the moment was not romantic, not erotic, but it did not spoil the mood, just changed it to melancholy – Elizabeth took a step forward, letting her brow rest on her husband’s shoulder – and with that simple move, the mood shifted again – their naked bodies touching – her bare skin on his – her bare thigh on his – her breath on his cheek, her breasts on his chest – he let a shuddering sigh, and his hands went downwards.

**

Of course he would die here. In the wrong part of town, in dreamland – where nightmares stuck to the sidewalks – Darcy had always known. As a child, he knew. Oblivion took his parents, forgot about him briefly, but – Death had always been there, lying in wait – 

The man moved his left foot. 

The roaring of a motor – so low. Maybe the armor’s battery had recharged, maybe… 

The Red planted his foot firmly into the slope. Then froze. 

The world was very still. 

A minute passed. 

The motor started again. The man rose his other foot. Slow hum, gears turning. 

New pause.

He planted the second foot firmly into the earth. 

Then he began to climb.

**

Later, they both lied on the ground, safe, above the abyss. Not a word had been exchanged.

Sirens, resonating afar.

Darcy rose up. “Will you be ok?” he asked. 

The man didn’t answer. (Maybe his microphone was dead.) It seemed to Darcy that his helmet turned – towards him – just a little bit – maybe it was his imagination.

The sirens were getting closer. “I am sorry, I have to leave,” Darcy whispered, and he fled.

**

Elizabeth and Lydia were waiting for him in an abandoned studio not far from their home; Darcy had texted Elizabeth desperately as soon as he could. When at last he got to them, in their hiding hole, Lydia had showered and changed clothes, she was eating ravenously the food a very worried Elizabeth had brought. 

“Is she well?” Darcy asked, at soon as he was ushered in. 

He knew he was a mess – he has rented a room on the way and did his best to clean up – if only to not get arrested in the streets. Elizabeth staid petrified for a second, staring at him – twice she seemed ready to say something – then she only answered,

“Yes – yes. She – she seems well – she is very hungry.”

“An excellent sign,” Darcy said, looking at Lydia, the girl looked back, but didn’t talk, “she hasn’t said a word since I intercepted her – in our building’s stairs,” Elizabeth explained, Lydia stared at her, then at the both of them, and – didn’t say a thing.

“You know you cannot bring her to your family yet.”

“I know,” Elizabeth answered softly. “Lydia, darling, it’s not that we want to hide you, but…”

Lydia had resumed her eating. Elizabeth sat down at her side. “You are not marked, sweetheart, which is… a miracle, really…” 

Darcy nodded. “I got to her just before the Reds did.” 

He was leaning upon the wall, watching the scene – truth was, he needed the support, his legs would hardly carry him. It felt… strangely domestic. He and Elizabeth in the same room, looking over a lost child. 

“Dearest Lydia,” Elizabeth said, stroking her sister’s hair as if she was a little girl, “I have to know if you are… If those men touched you. Because if they did, it’s ok, it’s fine, it’s not your fault, but I cannot bring you back home, not today – people would talk, asking why you disappeared, and with whom – the Reds would hear, they would order a virginity test…”

Lydia watched her in silence. “So if you’re not – a maid anymore – maybe we could send you north,” Elizabeth continued, “to our aunt, where people do not know you. You could start life anew – we will always protect you, always love you, but…”

“Or she could get married,” Darcy intervened. “To a cousin – to someone you know and trust. Maybe you’d need to bribe the man, but – Lydia wouldn’t be in danger of denunciation anymore – she could stay here in town, with her family…”

Lydia was still silent. She looked at Darcy, at her sister, before taking another bite.

“That is true,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice trembling, she was pretending to be calm, Darcy realized, playing a role, the big sister, in control, but he could see through Elizabeth now – the smile plastered on her face, her unsteady hands. “Lydia, dear, see, there are a thousand solutions – but before we decide, I have to know if…”

Lydia put her fork down with a clang.

"I killed Wickham,” she declared.

Silence. Then: 

“Good,” Elizabeth only said.

**

Lydia was still a virgin, as it turned out; she had been reserved for a “deflowering event," starring three other girls and a bunch of important clients. “I would have gotten out of it,” she declared in her strong, decided voice at lunch two days later, Mrs. Bennet fussing over her, “even if the Reds hadn’t come, I would have run away…”

“Of course you would have!” Mrs. Bennet cried. 

“Of course you would have,” Jane confirmed sweetly – Elizabeth couldn’t find the heart to contradict them – denial, a Bennet’s family tradition, (an old, tried method that had done humans a world of good over the centuries.) Neighbors couldn’t know, of course. Mrs. Bennet had told everybody that Lydia had run away with the Lucas’ boy, “a children’s escapade, totally chaste, they are betrothed now, as it should” – anyway, if someone tipped the Reds, the virginity test would come back clean. Lydia had not the slightest intention of marrying Charlotte’s brother, she would just wait for rumors to die and discreetly cancel the engagement – Darcy’s implication had to be kept secret. 

“I have to keep out of The Authority’s radar, for Georgiana’s sake,” he had explained to Elizabeth, that day. 

Elizabeth had nodded. Darcy bowed to her, and was gone.

She realized, when the door closed, that she hadn’t even said thank you. 

**

It was anticlimactic, really. Gossip was minimal; coming after a mass slaughter and a Fall, a teenager elopement was nothing to text home about. No Reds ever came, no virginity test was conducted – maybe the Bennet’s neighbors were all good people and no one wanted to rat out a fourteen years old girl – or maybe, Elizabeth thought, rather cynically, Lydia had been denounced but the Reds didn’t care – they hadn’t the time or the personnel to care. It had been a slaughter, people whispered, the assault on the Sapphire Headquarters, then the Beast – fifty dead minimum – coming just after the strike – the Reds were understaffed and overworked – 

… or maybe, maybe, change was in the air – after the fluctuations in Parliament, the negotiations with the workers, all the rumors of policies shifting, maybe there was a tentative, subtle air of spring…

**

Although in Zone 5, it was still summer, and still stifling.

**

And Elizabeth hadn’t even said thank you. 

**

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

She felt on edge, all the time. She felt like something was always missing – an empty, hungry space – gnawing at her. She felt – like she wanted to go to him and beg – tell him that she would say “yes”, now, if he came back, (with the same proposition, 70 a week, could go up to 90), she would accept – in a second – although she would not take his money – she would give herself for free. 

(Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe that was a crazy plan. Maybe it was a fantasy. Maybe it would really be a fall, falling off virtue, like The Beast off the sky, or maybe it would be Elizabeth’s “fuck you” to the system, to the Authority, to chastity, just sleeping with him, for _free_. Just because she fucking wanted to.)

(Or maybe she was just going nuts.)

**

One day Bingley and Jane came to get a drink at Philip’s during Elizabeth’s shift. Darcy was with them, and a few friends – Bingley was cheerful and generous as ever, Elizabeth hurried to serve everybody, she would have given anything, honor and glory and the entire Philip’s coffee stock for one uninterrupted conversation with Darcy – but Jane’s friends loved to gossip – Darcy couldn’t approach Elizabeth; a few minutes passed, he had to leave.

**

Women only had the power of refusal.

So she couldn’t just go to him.

**

One day Elizabeth decided to just go to him. 

Against all rules, all morals, all delicacy. But Darcy wasn’t coming back. Maybe he felt his last attempt had been unsuccessful, maybe he believed visiting Elizabeth would seem like demanding gratitude – an honorable stance, certainly, but Elizabeth was losing her mind – so one afternoon, she just entered Pemberley – her heart beating like mad – the store was humming, peak hours, dozens of people waiting in line, Elinor, Fanny, Harriet focused on their tasks, Reynolds talking to a client (he spotted her and waved apologetically), Darcy was nowhere in sight. It was a mistake, Elizabeth shouldn’t have come - looking for a man, oh, the shame of it, what would Darcy think of her – she walked to the end of the row, and there he was – in his office, working – behind the glass door – he looked up and their eyes met– Elizabeth panicked, she pretended to search her bag for money, her cheeks were burning, she was burning, she fled.

**

An hour later an Authority’s construction crew arrived on the esplanade to install vending machines and rumors began to fly that one of them was selling alien ware.

There was a commotion. People flocked around the workers to try to catch a glimpse of the new attractions – the first was just a regular, modern coffee machine – a great way to poach all Philip’s clientele, Elizabeth thought, (she didn’t really care) – then the workers were done, the alien machine was officially accessible – except there was a crowd now, making the device impossible to approach – everybody on the square has come to see, even Pemberley’s employees had abandoned their posts – Fanny and Harriet were there – and Reynolds – and Darcy.

Elizabeth became instantly conscious of his presence. He stood among his group of friends, she was among hers – she glanced discreetly at him – caught his eye for a second – people were talking about the alien merchandise, a bright purple cube, they said, a series of blue pebbles stacked in a cylinder, and some incomprehensible metallic sculpture – everyone was happily speculating, Bingley approached to chat with Elizabeth, Jane joined them, smiling, bringing back coffee from the shining new apparatus – the taste was nothing special, but Elizabeth pretending that the drinks were flavored with secret, odorless alien spices – the first step of an out-of-space invasion – other friends coming and going, it seemed the whole neighborhood was present, then it was time for Jane’s shift, (the way Bingley looked at her when she kissed him goodbye, it made Elizabeth think that whatever happened, there was light in the world,) “I’m going in! Wish me luck! I’m going to get one of those purple cubes, if I have to bite my way in!” Charlotte declared, before entering the fray –

“Hello, Miss Bennet.”

Darcy’s voice, behind her.

Elizabeth’s hands began to tremble. She turned to him, and they just – looked at each other, wordlessly.

“You came to see me,” Darcy whispered, finally. A pause. “Did you?”

Time to be brave. “Yes. Yes. I regret we didn’t have the opportunity to talk before, sir. Because… I wanted to tell you…”

Her voice faltered. Darcy was looking away, across the esplanade. 

“I wish I could convince you not to call me ‘sir’ anymore.” 

“I want to thank you – for Lydia – for what you did for my sister,” Elizabeth blurted. “The risks you took, the danger you were in – The Beast – I cannot even imagine – the rest of my family isn’t aware of your involvement, but if they did, I swear they would…”

“I did it for you,” Darcy breathed, before repeating: “I did it for you.” 

He was still watching the mall, or Pemberley, anything but her, Elizabeth didn’t know how to act – what to say – touch his hand? She didn’t dare, then Darcy did turn to her and she tried to convey everything in her eyes – they stayed frozen for a moment – “Eliza,” Charlotte cried victoriously, “I’ve got one! Look at this – thing…”

And here Charlotte was, waving a purple alien cube between them.

“Maybe it’s radioactive,” Elizabeth replied, without thinking.

“It better not fucking be, at this price,” was her friend’s answer – on the left Bingley was trying to get Darcy’s attention and waving urgently towards Pemberley. 

“I have to go,” Darcy said. 

He walked away – “Reynolds is looking for you,” Bingley explained, Darcy went back inside, in his almost deserted supermarket, he was in a daze, his head buzzing – that look – the expression on Elizabeth’s face – _his_ hands were trembling now – white flashing in his brain – hope, then doubt, hope again – Reynolds was waiting – he was very pale.

“You are convoked by the Authority,” he explained. “The Reds. They want to see you.”

**

The man seated on the other side of the table was young, maybe 28, dirty blond, blue eyes, looking – tired. He had a scar on his brow, an old one. Two others, visible on his forearms. At least another large one, starting under his collar. And yes, he seemed… 

… so very weary.

“Sit down,” he ordered, his voice cold.

Darcy obeyed. _Lieutenant-Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam_ was written on the plaque, on the desk. 

“You saved my life,” the man said. 

Oh. Darcy exhaled slowly. Then, for a moment, he was there again – the acid, the stench of burned flesh. The still skies. The metallic hand, gradually slipping from his grasp.

“So. You made that phone call,” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam stated, after a pause. “I compared the voice to my own recordings. You gave us the location of the Saphire HQ.”

Darcy tried to look calm. “I – yes. I am the one who called. As I said at the time… just a concerned citizen.”

“A concerned citizen who stayed close to the premises during the attack. Who was seen running towards the building.”

Darcy kept silent. No cameras could have survived the Fall. There could be no image of him inside, no definite proof. 

Lieutenant Fitzwilliam waited for him to answer, then stated: 

“I looked at your file. Your sister was found guilty of prostitution in another Sapphire location, years ago. They said she was executed, but I dug a little deeper, and no body was ever retrieved. The local Red teams are incompetent as ever, because it took me all of 30 seconds to understand she had run away and you were hiding her in your little supermarket...”

Darcy froze. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. Tried to think of some way he could – divert the suspicion – convince the man he was wrong – but – 

“I erased her condemnation. The letter on her neck must have disappeared already. The skin should regrow in one to five weeks.”

Darcy stayed stunned – his eyes going wide. “I… I…”

The man raised his hand. “Don’t. Please. I don’t need protestations or thanks.”

“I – yes – but…” Darcy searched for the right words. “You do not realize… What you just did. The importance of – ”

“Acid is a horrible death.”

Darcy nodded, speechless.

“What were you doing inside the HQ?” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam asked. “Mere curiosity. Did you – kill someone? Took revenge on someone?”

“No! No. The opposite. I tried to… There was a friend…”

“Ok. Good. I don’t want to know more.”

New silence. Darcy was trying to think – what he should do now – the possibilities opening – on the other side of the table the man looked ready to dismiss him – Darcy rose.

“If there is something else I can help you with,” the officer said, “please ask.” 

Darcy hesitated. 

“As I said – acid is a horrible death.” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s voice was low. “I’ve seen it happening too many times, and I was definitely not looking forward to it.” A pause. “I thought that was it, you know. For my sins.”

“Actually,” Darcy began, standing near the chair. “Yes. There is something – advice – advice only, I swear.”

Curiosity and even a sliver of amusement went through the man’s eyes. “Shoot.”

“They are – the Authority is regularly recruiting people – colonists – for the satellites,” Darcy asked. “For Callisto and Calliope in particular. The price is high – but I have money saved. That I kept for another usage,” Darcy slowly explained, looking right into the officer’s eyes. “But if my sister is free, then this money is now available…”

“I see.”

“I could buy two – or three – tickets, one way, for Callisto,” Darcy continued. “The Authority makes it sound like a new beginning. A new life. But then, the rumors…”

The terraforming, failing (they whispered.) The spaceships with medicine, food relief and material – a year late, or never coming (they whispered.) 

People, eating each other. 

“I don’t want to believe the worse,” Darcy continued. “But in your position, Lieutenant, maybe you know more, and…”

“Don’t go there.”

“Oh.”

“Just… Don’t. Don’t go.”

New silence. Darcy nodded – a bizarre feeling of disappointment lodged in his throat – how crazy, while his sister was free at last – he should be euphoric – but there was a part of him, he realized only now, which hoped he could _go_ – a part of him that was desperate to leave – but…

“Although,” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam said, watching him carefully, “there’s always Pemberley.”

Darcy sat back on the chair. 

“Pemberley? But… Is… I thought the satellite was abandoned? I thought nothing happened on…”

“Oh, it happened. As a private experiment. Very special, reserved to government’s officials and their families.”

“And – it worked. The colonization?”

“It did.” Richard Fitzwilliam spoke slowly – as if there was more, as if there were things he wasn’t telling, not yet. “In fact, a new wave of recruitment is going on right now. It will close in two days.”

“I am not related to a government’s official.”

“No, but – you are young and healthy – and I am in a unique position to – I mean, I could recommend you,” the officer stated, leaning back in his chair and activating a screen. “Bribing might be necessary – not for me,” he added before Darcy could react. “How much have you got?”

“Nearly 60 000.”

“Are you married?”

Darcy didn’t even think. “Yes.”

“Good. Obviously, when it comes to settlers, a young, healthy couple is always better… Is your wife a citizen?”

“She will be.” The officer looked at him. Darcy explained: “I mean, I am not married yet, but I will be. I am engaged.”

“To a non-citizen.”

“Yes.”

“Is it that girl – the one you were out with, that night, after curfew?”

“You – you remember.”

“I remember everything,” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam said – his tone very neutral – his eyes back on the screen – “whether I want it or not.” He typed something. “It will make things more difficult – her lack of status – but – good. Good for you, for making things right.” 

He looked so weary again, like he had seen – too much – and Darcy refrained a bitter laugh, because – if only – if only he could make things right, if only Elizabeth would let him make things right – “Is she in education?” the officer asked. “My father is looking for people in education.”

“She could be,” Darcy answered, before repeating – “your father?”

Lieutenant Fitzwilliam blinked. Once. Then he looked straight at Darcy.

“The Earl of Matlock. It is his project.”

The Earl of Matlock – the Congressman – things jigged into place – why Richard Fitzwilliam was Lieutenant-Colonel, so young. In a big office. In – special forces. 

“As I said,” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam continued, staring at Darcy, “it is a very unusual project. Made in collaboration with the Gal31… powers, let’s call them that way.”

“Oh.”

“The main Gal31 species are in the habit of hybridizing – genetically and culturally, with the new species they encounter. So – this is an experiment, to create a new kind of society. An alien/human utopia, as it were.”

Darcy was speechless again – listening, stunned. 

“The Authority doesn’t even have jurisdiction up there,” the officer explained. “As you can imagine, the illustrious members of our government were not happy with the concept, but…” His voice trailed away. 

Darcy nodded. “I understand.” The Gal31 alliance was essential, for military and business reasons – even The Authority couldn’t afford to jeopardize it. “Will you come with us?” 

Lieutenant Fitzwilliam raised his eyes from the screen. “Where?”

“To Pemberley. If your father is directing the project, you could...”

The officer blinked again. And then Darcy remembered – rumors, again, always rumors – how the Authority ensured the fidelity of its highest officials. They were encouraged to have children, and then – one of them was sent to the Reds, or to the army – places where something could easily “happen” if there was, from the parents, even a hint of disloyalty – the first born was often destined to a political career, so the second son was the logical choice.

A sacrifice to the Gods.

Lieutenant Fitzwilliam just smiled, and it was very cold.

“No. I will not go to Pemberley. I will stay here in hell, with the rest of us.”

**

_“– and – I need hope – I need hope in my life –"_

**

Bingley coming unannounced to lunch at the Bennet’s apartment was not a surprise – he spent as much time as he could in Jane's company – but today Darcy was with him. While the former was joyously welcomed at the kitchen table, Elizabeth saw Darcy talking in a low voice to her father in the hall – then her father glanced at her, before nodding to Darcy - both of them disappeared in Mr. Bennet’s study. Of course Elizabeth couldn’t help but think – but suppose – they were not coming back – her mother was making pasta, Kitty and Lydia were pestering Bingley for a party, Lydia was so exactly like before, talking like before, laughing like before, annoying everybody like before that Elizabeth strongly suspected her sister was not like before, but believed that if she pretended, it would all turn out true somehow – Jane’s adoring eyes were following Bingley’s every move – Elizabeth prepared some tea. For the table. Then she drank her tea.

Darcy and her father were still in the study.

More tea.

“Elizabeth,” her father said – he had somehow materialized at the kitchen’s door, Darcy was gone, “come and talk to me a minute, would you?”

“Of course.” 

And then she was in her father’s office. 

“Lizzie,” Mr. Bennet said softly, “I just received a marriage proposal for you. Did the young man warned you of his intentions beforehand?”

“Not… Not exactly, sir.” 

“Though it seems the news does not take you completely by surprise.”

“I…” She paused. “I didn’t know – but I – I – I hoped…”

Her father shook his head. “I thought so. God.” He sighed. “Really, Lizzie,” he added with all the spite of academia – even ex-academia, “a _supermarket manager_?”

She was ready to laugh and cry at the same time. “Oh daddy you are such a snob.”

It took a long time to convince her father – even Lydia’s story was not enough – Mr. Bennet thought Elizabeth was too young, 19 was too young, in a world where no divorce was allowed – he had told her that Darcy was waiting for her answer outside on the stairs so Elizabeth got more antsy by the minute – even when she pointed out that people married earlier because life expectancy had dropped, Mr. Bennet wasn’t keen to “sell” his favorite daughter to a “shopkeeper” – “although that would certainly make your mother happy,” he sighed. “Maybe we’d get a discount.” 

He had to yield when Elizabeth wouldn’t budge, and it was only after almost an hour of fiery debate that she was allowed, at last, to go out – Darcy had sat down on the concrete outdoor steps that led to the abandoned mini-mall, the sun was blazing, everything was white hot.

**

She sat down beside him. 

The heat was stifling. She was so choked she couldn’t talk – they stayed immobile for a while, under the rays of Earth’s sun. 

“I know,” Darcy stated after a while, “that you said you wouldn’t marry me, even if I begged. Well, this is me begging.”

It took a while for Elizabeth to answer. “How paradoxical. That I spent so many months hating you, and now I wonder if I’m good enough for you.”

“Elizabeth, please do not… Just tell me.” He took a deep breath. “Lately, I have been imagining – well, since we met yesterday on the esplanade, I have been imagining – how life would be with you at my side – how it would be to wake up and face the day with you at my side, and this – this obsession is not good for my mental health, so please – help me put a stop to it – or I will go crazy.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes to what?”

Elizabeth turned, reached over and tried to kiss him – she was shy and clumsy, and barely brushed his face – then his arm found her waist, he drew her closer – their lips meeting for the briefest of time – after she hid her face on his shoulder before hastily drawing back – a neighbor passed by, carrying groceries, she gave them a disapproving, worried look. 

“I would say ‘yes to everything’, sir,” Elizabeth said, at last, her eyes fixed on the steps, “if it didn’t sound so dreadfully trite.”

“I have no problem with trite. You do elegant distance all very well… but I would welcome trite right now, believe me.”

Elizabeth didn’t know how – ironic amiability had served her so well for so many years, protecting her against despair, misery, and men – “give me time,” she breathed, and looked at him again, with – too much admiration in her eyes – she averted them quickly – he had seen, though.

“So you will marry me,” he breathed.

She nodded – their eyes locked again – another neighbor passed on the street, another disapproving stare – Darcy grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, “Let’s take a walk,” he said quickly, “before someone calls the Reds for the terrible improper behavior of sitting together,” they began to wander in the heat - people were looking, so they went down towards the deserted park, with its wild grass, broken concrete and dead trees – still holding hands – (the intimacy, the beauty of it) – when they were far in the devastated woods, protected by the remnants of a majestic oak, she dared to look at Darcy, to find him observing her, she had never seen his face like this, his expression so – open – so fragile.

“I can’t seem to quite believe it,” he began. His look was worried... as if she could still reject him, as if it could still be an elaborate joke - revenge, maybe. Then he added hastily, “you know I am never letting your hand go.” 

“Literally and metaphorically, I hope,” Elizabeth answered – before regretting it instantly – (ironical distance) – maybe acts would come to her easier than words, maybe she should just kiss him again – at the mere idea, her cheeks were turning hot – alarms began to blare.

Not The Beast. Just a regular, run of the mill alarm, a bit of metallic rain, fragments of old weapons falling to earth, it happened frequently - material damage mostly - people didn’t die that often. But still, they began to run – there was a shelter close by, under an abandoned restaurant, Elizabeth led Darcy there – good decision, because as soon as they reached the steps leading to the basement it began to rain fire on the old playground – whatever was falling, it was worse was usual – they rushed down, while the world screamed – alarms got deafening, plaster dust and smoke everywhere, maybe Elizabeth had stumbled, maybe they had fallen, because somehow now they were both lying on the shelter’s floor, in each other's arms - outside, earsplitting thunder and destruction - inside, dirt, shadows, and the imperturbable sun, sifting through a metallic vent. 

Holding so tight. Not a bad way to die, Elizabeth thought, although obviously – she would really prefer not to – Darcy was kissing her hair, her brow, she raised her head slightly, and soon – her first real kiss - plaster and dirt, heat and fire, then a second one, and – many others, “I am having paranoid thoughts,” Darcy whispered into her ear later, the mayhem outside giving no sign of subsiding – but it would subside – it would, and then they would live – “Elizabeth, I know - I realize – your parents may have pressured you to accept my suit – or maybe you thought you ought to, because of – Lydia – or – maybe even – citizenship – and I want you to know that if you desire to opt-out – I would understand, or – maybe there might be more affection on my side at first, but – affection can grow, you can learn to care for me, and –“

“I love you,” she whispered; the kisses became a tad more heated after that.

Then the world fell silent again.

Outside, no screams – the old park was really deserted. The usual flurry of texts, Elizabeth reassured her parents, they had both sat up, and when she put away her phone, she realized the state she was in – quite disheveled, her dress torn in strategic paces – she laughed – how ridiculous, propriety preoccupations, after fire fell from the skies – “it is a good thing we are far from home,” she whispered, smiling - he interrupted her with a kiss, and it was only a few moments later that she could add: “because if my mother saw me like this – in your company – she would drag us to the altar tomorrow at dawn.”

Another kiss.

“Actually,” Darcy began, after. He paused, because her smile was luminous, (her smile to him, for him) - “actually," he repeated, "we do have to marry in haste, I mean, if you still wish, after…" New pause. "There is a part of my proposal I didn’t share with your father.”

So he told her – about Pemberley. Georgiana wouldn’t go, she couldn’t bear the thought of being locked up again in a claustrophobic space – even if the trip only lasted six months – she wanted to stay on Earth, she wanted to travel, to dance, to breathe – free of fear – in the crumbling park shelter, Darcy was talking about the spaceship, and the aliens, and the stars, and the experiment, Elizabeth’s eyes shining with longing and wonder – “This is what I wanted to give to you,” he concluded, she was still so bewildered she didn't understand at first, so he had to say: 

“Hope.”


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were right, everybody, this story needed an epilogue. Here it is! Warning: It's **WEIRD.**
> 
> Again, thank you. :) This was not an easy story to write, and I couldn't have done it without you all. :)

Five years later, Ms. Debourgh’s asks Charlotte Lucas to move in with her. Charlotte instantly cancels her arrangement with Mr. Collins. The two women live together for twenty-five years, and when Ms. Debourgh dies, Charlotte inherits it all.

*

Lydia realizes she’s gay when she kisses Sia, the singer of Mary’s band. The good thing about living in a patriarchal dystopia is that lesbianism is not even on the radar. Lydia and Sia can hold hands, live together and people just think, oh, women can be so close! (Yes, like Charlotte and Ms. Debourgh, except Charlotte considers herself asexual, or would, if the concept existed.) 

Sia and Lydia are extremely sexual. But Sia knows her stuff, so they remain, technically, virgins. When they are denounced for wanton behavior with _men_ – oh the irony – all tests come back clean. Lydia even gets to flip off the man who reported her.

*

Reynolds manages Pemberley after Darcy’s departure and eventually buys Citizenship.

*

Mary takes a job and gets married. It’s not great. She settles. And regrets it all her life.

*

Kitty and her husband get shot by the Reds during a protest. 

Kitty was pregnant. (But only Elizabeth knows, after Myriad.)

*

It gets better. On Earth. It takes thirty years, some economic growth, some ecological progress, two discreet administrative coups inside The Authority’s ranks. 

Reforms. Journalists call it the “Political Spring.” Only Mr. Bennet and a few other intellectuals versed in history know how dangerous, how charged the word is. (Think about Prague. Think about the Arab Spring.) 

But it works. Kinda. There’s progress. “It will take two generations,” Mr. Bennet writes. “Sometimes,” he continues, citing periods in history, “it takes a hundred years.”

(Dystopias implode or explode. This one is imploding.)

*

Mr. Bennet gets his Citizen status back the day after Kitty is killed. No connection, just a horrible coincidence. 

He begins to write again, becomes mildly famous. A part of him always thinks he traded two daughters for it.

(Because he lost Elizabeth, too, in a way.)

*

Georgiana gets married, it’s fake, an arrangement, so she can be free. Then one day she passes illegally the Zone’s southern frontier and just… vanishes.

*

Jane and Bingley are very happy. 

*

The spaceship.

A six months trip to the unknown, a six months honeymoon. It shapes Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship forever. The bed is so small, in the crummy cabin, they have to sleep in each other arms. It becomes a habit. Later, on Pemberley, when they are in their (very big) house, in their (very big) bed, they keep doing it, sliding into slumber with their bodies intertwined. 

Sometimes Darcy has to go away in another dome, for work. (At age 32 he's already managing most administrative domes.) When she has to sleep alone Elizabeth feels untethered, like she’s going to slip back to a previous, worse version of herself.

Later, Darcy admits that when he’s away – from her – the nightmares come back.

*

Pemberley.

The hybrids are born first. Twins, as it generally goes. Darcy and Elizabeth’s genetical children, but with alien genome inserted. Jane and Georgiana, they’re named, although all Deltas hybrids are genderfluid. 

(Elizabeth laughs, at the idea of a world where being genderfluid is a part of daily reality, you know, after The Authority.)

Elizabeth is afraid she will not know how to love them, but she does. She and Darcy both do. They have their own strong personality, the twins, it’s just that their intelligence, the way they react to things is somehow slightly different. (As is their translucent skin, and their eyes). Their range of emotions is very human. Human +, the scientists call it. All human emotions plus two.

They are adults at age 13.

*

Darcy and Elizabeth’s next children are 100% certified humans. Catherine and George. They are both so different, it’s staggering.

Catherine Darcy (who will be Kathy all her life) loves Pemberley. She loves the twins, the science, the society, the experiment. She’s grounded and so funny Elizabeth always says she should be a stand-up comedian, but Kathy becomes a neurosurgeon instead, deeply involved in the hybridizing policy. Kathy believes in it, she believes in the “Next Steps”, she believes they are making galactic history. 

(They are, Elizabeth realizes. After Myriad. After The Other.) 

Kathy lives a full and complete life. She rejoices every day when dawn breaks and it’s time to get up and change the universe. 

(The dawn is different here. Elizabeth misses the real dawn, sometimes. But she and Kathy laugh so much together. Already, when Kathy is a little girl, she loves pranks, Elizabeth chases her in their beautiful house, they fall on the floor laughing – Darcy watches them – with so much love.)

(When Kathy’s an adult, she and Elizabeth get along very well. Even when they fight about politics and feminism, it’s a battle of wit. The debates last forever, the rest of the family just roll their eyes. Even the hybrids. Rolling their eyes, the Bennet way.)

(Sometimes, when Elizabeth sees Kathy at work, she thinks her daughter is having the life she should have had - if she had access to real education. It makes Elizabeth feel warm inside. Contented. That she could offer better to her child.)

(It’s worth any human dawn.)

(When Kathy gets her first major diploma, Elizabeth takes Darcy’s hand, and kisses him, and whispers “thank you” in his ear. During the rest of the ceremony they hold hands, very tight.)

*

When he turns 35, Richard Fitzwilliam puts a bullet in his head.

*

George Darcy is an introvert. He’s his father’s favorite child, although Darcy would deny he has one. But George has Georgiana’s eyes (human Georgiana). George is an artist. Alas, the hybrids outshine him – not only the twins, but all Pemberley’s Deltas, their art is so weird and powerful, so when he’s 21, George goes back to Earth, and never comes back.

He breaks his father’s heart a little.

(Like Elizabeth broke her father’s heart, she understands, after Myriad.)

*

One day, Elizabeth kneels before her husband, (it's all very patriarchal, she realizes afterward.) They’re in their bedroom – it's early morning - Darcy doesn’t understand at first, so Elizabeth tells him – how much he means to her – she woke up in a panic, thinking she was still stuck on Earth - and then, when she realized where she was, she was suddenly afraid that she didn’t open her heart enough - Darcy was the one who declared himself, both times, and even now, he's generally the one to - Elizabeth knows it’s her education, stifling her still, so she tells him – how passionately she – it’s still difficult for her to utter the word, but she does – Darcy stays speechless for a while, then his voice catches when he says he knows – of course he knows – but still – he – it’s great to hear it.

*

The Hybrids' second generation is named Gamma.

They are – unsettling. (To Elizabeth. This is all from Elizabeth’s point of view, dear readers.) She wants to love them too, Georgiana and Jane’s children, and she does, but – ok, they are strange, all right? Georgiana and Jane mated with other Deltas and there was a new genome inserted, from another Gal 31 species, and so came three – kids? Offsprings? (Creatures?) 

Elizabeth’s grandchildren.

Kathy is all over them, of course. And thank God for Jane. (Jane the hybrid, not Jane the human.) Jane and her mother are very close also, Elizabeth wonders sometimes if the relationship evolved that way because – well, because her child’s name is Jane, so Elizabeth naturally confided in her more.

“Naturally confided in ‘them’, mom, not in ‘her’, Jane is not female,” Kathy protests. “You’re a renowned transcultural specialist! Use the right pronouns!”

“Actually,” Georgiana counters, her hybrid eyes shining as always when she wants to outsmart Kathy, “’them’ doesn’t fit with our self-definition either. Human pronouns don’t apply. You should use Ґ,” Georgiana states – pronouncing the human version of an unofficial ideogram from an artificial hybrid language Pemberley’s linguists are in the process of concocting.

Kathy rolls her eyes. (The Bennet way.) “You're, like, 99,98% human, Georgie. Stop showing off.”

“Well,” Elizabeth states with authority, “Pemberley’s official language is still human-based, so we are still going to use human words at this table, thank you very much.”

Elizabeth secretly loves them, those Bennet squabbles at the family table. It’s a good thing Darcy is not present tonight though, he hates it when “the girls” fight. (Elizabeth is still secretly thinking of them as ‘the girls’ and will happily have interminable debates with Kathy about it.)

(Jane and Georgiana don’t care.)

*

Jane is Elizabeth’s ambassador to all things hybrid, to the Gammas. Jane translates her kids’ behavior, she interprets their gestures, the sudden changes of their skin, the sounds they make, their needs. Jane explains how her children like to be loved, and Elizabeth adapts. 

(Strangely enough, Darcy has no problem with them. He likes rules, and for things to be clear. He reads the Gamma’s biology handbook when the kids are born and just applies instructions.)

They are adults at age 8.

** 

A third Hybrid generation is born. Elizabeth and Darcy adapt. 

**

Then comes the Alpha.

And that is just too much for Elizabeth. 

Fourth generation. The Alpha is so tall. His eyes are… indescribable. The “corporal basis” is human, but the Alpha is the result of five different genomes, from five different species. He just looks at them, his head slightly bent. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t communicate, ever. 

“Does he even have emotions?” Elizabeth asks.

Kathy is appalled. “Mom!!! Of course he has emotions!!!” (On the same tone that a teenager would say, “This is _SO RACIST_ Mom!!!”

Elizabeth calls him The Other. Yes, she capitalizes the T, like The Beast. And yes, the word "Other", it’s pretty racist, (specist, actually) but she just… can’t.

Darcy tries. To communicate. He tries to learn The Other’s language. “He’s a Darcy, Elizabeth,” her husband explains, and what a weird, old fashioned thing to say, but it makes Elizabeth smile with affection, that Fitzwilliam Darcy can somehow succeed to still be old fashioned, in this environment. 

And he’s right, too. 

Administratively, The Other is a Darcy.

*

The Other is unique.

There are many Deltas, Gammas, Betas running around Pemberley. The experiment – the utopia – is getting stranger by the day. Elizabeth’s work is getting stranger by the day. Darcy’s work too, but it doesn’t seem to faze him, or maybe he pretends. He’s the man who successfully managed a supermarket while hiding his younger sister in a closet after all – he knows how to pretend.

Elizabeth is so proud of him. (She tells him, and he’s so moved, even now.)

*

So. The Other is unique. The only Alpha in existence. For now, Kathy says. But Elizabeth knows (after Myriad) that there will be no other. No other Other. 

He’s unique, and he’s alone.

The Other is very important. Because… Elizabeth doesn’t really get why. Kathy doesn’t either, it is one of those times where having a mere human brain is too limiting. Kathy tries to explain what she understands, it’s about time and space and… mapping the Galaxy? Archiving the Galaxy? No – those terms are too limiting, Georgiana protests, she is such a skilled linguist now, she played a huge part in the development of all four new languages – Georgiana tries to express it in L4, to define The Other’s potential in elegant, bizarre ideograms – but she doesn’t get it completely either (she’s only a Delta). 

*

They're old now.

*

Darcy dies in Elizabeth’s arms and she knows that she’s been lucky, so lucky, that she had such an unexpected, beautiful life – but she doesn’t care. The pain is acute. She hates everybody. Elizabeth hates George for not coming back for his father’s funeral. (George cannot, he literally cannot, the trip, it would take months.) Elizabeth hates Georgiana for not crying, for being so cold. (Georgiana is not cold, she just processes grief differently.) Elizabeth hates Jane for not being “the real Jane”. 

She misses her sister so much. 

“Mom,” Kathy whispers. “Think about how happy you’ve been. Think about how much – he loved you, and was loved in return. Think about how lucky you’ve both been.”

Elizabeth hates her. Hates them all.

*

Then the Myriad Technology gets available. 

The Other has something to do with it. They conceived Myriad by studying how His brain works, or something. 

(The Other is volunteering, of course. Anyway, you cannot hold Him against His will, as Elizabeth will soon understand.)

Myriad is accessible to volunteers. (In Pemberley only.) Elizabeth is one of the first on the list. It seems so simple – basic brain surgery, the implant, some injections – the potential exists in everybody, they say, human or alien. It’s just a matter of unlocking it.

When Elizabeth recovers – before she goes home, before bits of time and space begin to flash in her mind, The Other comes to visit her. He doesn’t say anything; he just watches her silently. Elizabeth is in her hospital bed, she doesn’t talk, she doesn’t ask anything either, she knows better now. But for the first time, she sees a little bit of Darcy in Him. 

You know, by the way he just stands there. All awkward and stuff.

(She will never see The Other again, she thinks.) 

(She’s wrong. She will see Him again once.)

*

Time and space flash in her brain. 

Past, present, future. Tiny morsels. Of people Elizabeth knows, or people she is connected to. Jane giving birth to her first child. Their father, writing, his face lit by the screen, in a dark, empty room. Georgiana dancing. (On a makeshift theater. In a faraway place. Far from for the Authority.)

(A fire dancer.) 

Richard Fitzwilliam's body. The Authority bury the truth, of course; they say he died in action. 

(Nobody knows. Nobody cries for him. Only Elizabeth.)

*

Longer moments too, connections, probabilities. Everything – all the scraps of information given in this epilogue – about Charlotte or Lydia or Kitty - all of this, scenes in Elizabeth’s brain, after Myriad.

*

She sees forward too. What will happen to her children. To her. 

Her last night. With both of them, watching her.

* 

In the spaceship. Their honeymoon. Elizabeth and Darcy whisper all night, every night. They tell each other their childhood stories, their inner tragedies, they talk about their fears, their hopes. After Myriad, Elizabeth sees it all again: the grey walls of their tiny cabin, the security light filtering under the door. 

Both of them, lying naked above the tiny, military size blanket. Her head on his shoulder. The security light having hiccups. The trembling gleam on their skin.

*

Then she understands. 

*

Of course. Seems so obvious now.

*

Pemberley. The supermarket.

The Shimmering.

The XKS. The disruption of reality. The strange, transparent entity that appeared in Pemberley supermarket that night – the night when The Reds fought with the workers and killed everybody in the streets. The shining transparent worm; living things disappearing in its wake, reduced to their black and white vectors, then to nothingness. 

Elizabeth and Darcy watching in silence, fascinated, near the fruit and vegetable row.

She gets it. 

*

It was all about The Other. It was all about them: Darcy and Elizabeth. It was the moment it was set that they would love each other, that they would mate, have offspring, produce The Other. 

This is the moment in time The Other’s existence became possible.

Elizabeth gets it, also, how the phenomenon – the Shimmering – it’s really Him, really The Other – a projection of him – from faraway into the future, going back in time, to witness the moment. To mark it.

(It’s always Him. All His apparitions. Over the eons, throughout the galaxy.)

*

It should stun her more than it does, really. Truth is, Elizabeth doesn’t care that much. It’s too far, too incomprehensible, too... alien. What she cares about is that her anger is gone, that she laughs again, with Georgiana and Jane and the Gammas and Kathy’s children, and Kathy’s grandchildren (100% humans). 

*

In the spaceship. In the cabin, at night. Interminable, amorous debates, in a low voice. She makes Darcy laugh. His eyes shine when he looks at her.

Sometimes, when they kiss in the dark, Elizabeth’s so in love, she thinks her heart will burst.

*

In her bed. 

She sees The Other watching her. She sees Darcy watching her.

Anyway, she will die soon.


End file.
